


Sunchaser: Part 1 - Cornering the Round Table

by Vharzosi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Developing Relationship, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Jealousy, Love/Hate, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, PTSD, Political Alliances, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, War, claurenz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2020-09-18 23:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 93
Words: 252,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20321524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vharzosi/pseuds/Vharzosi
Summary: Edelgard marches across Fodlan, Byleth remains missing, and the Empire begins to put pressure on the Leicester Alliance after nearly two years of conquering the Faerghus Kingdom and quelling internal revolts.When Gloucester County is occupied, Lorenz flees to Derdriu to defend the Alliance’s independant future and his own life. Claude von Riegan corners him. Using his burgeoning network of spies, he seizes on this opportunity to bring Lorenz to heel for their mutual cause: manipulating the divided Roundtable. With limited power on their own, they devise ways to influence key actors, force the Rountable’s decisions, and undermine would-be Empire supporters.After conceding to Claude’s lead, working in proximity stirs up forgotten feelings for Lorenz: dredging up a complicated relationship abandoned from their days in the Officer’s Academy. Tensions flare as they fall back into their familiar push and pull, navigate their rivalry over Hilda’s casual affection, and try to make something more of their love/hate affair amidst the politics that demand they seem at odds.





	1. Prologue

"Our only option is Derdriu, unless we intend to escape across the sea, or cross the border. I know so little of Sreng or Almyra." Lorenz kept his voice low, whispering to his maid between their horses. All he could make out of her in the shadows was her short, bright hair.

"I agree, Derdriu is our best option. We can move freely from there if need be."

Lalia, maid and protector from his earliest memories, had woken him only a few hours before. He had found his things packed, and his riding wear ready. She outlined the peril he may be in, and gave him a choice: flee now, or trust her intel was a misunderstanding.

Lorenz was forced to confront the sad truth that Lalia was now a truer ally than his own father, and he could not bring himself to disbelieve her hunches.

The Gloucester Estate would, during peaceful times, find itself under poorest guard in the earliest hours. The Empire's occupation found the house with twice the guard, and twice the torches, even at 3 a.m.

Tonight was the only night they could move.

Through quiet and clouded breaths they could tell many of the guard were propped against walls with their heads lolling about their chests, if they were not slumped against the ground.

"What is wrong with them-"

"-Too much drink. Quiet."

The horses whinnied and stomped, irritated to be saddled so early. But nothing roused the guards.

Lorenz flees House Gloucester, Imperial Year 1183, six months after it's occupation by the Empire.


	2. Midnight Welcome

Lorenz rounded the archway to the sitting room. The last person he wanted to see was playing with the teacups, lounging as though he was at ease in his own estate.

"It is inappropriate to visit Gloucester Hall- or any residence- this late in the evening, Claude. I know you pride yourself on breaking the rules, but this is simply rude." His former House Leader (and present nuisance) leaned into the chair heavily, drinking the chamomile tea that was meant for Lorenz himself. The clock ticked mournfully, counting the twelfth hour.

Claude ignored his rebuke.

"I heard about your father remanding his lands to Imperial Rule. What are you doing here in the capital, Lorenz?" He placed the cup down gracelessly and stood abruptly. He was blunt: "To escape? To avoid conflict? To spy? Coward, or traitor?" His characteristic smirk was empty this time, menacing instead of charming.

"You are making bold accusations for someone who lives nestled safely in the heart of the Alliance. You can say nothing of traitors; half of the Lords wish to do the very same as my father has." His lip curled. "And you are not precisely doing anything to amend the situation. You're still just an heir in waiting. I'm here because... because the atmosphere became intolerable. I do not know what is to be done, but it cannot be done from occupied territory."

Two years had passed since the war began. It felt like more. Silence filled the room. Lorenz was ready to take rest after a hard week and a half riding, but here was _the Golden Deer_, as he so childishly enjoyed titling himself, blazing like a midnight sun in his yellow robes. He was too bright for the lavender sitting room.

"Hah! You're absolutely right! Mostly." He relaxed and reclaimed his seat between the dusty cushions. "What makes you think I'm doing nothing?"

"What makes you believe I have come all the way here just to spy?"

"Oh, you know. Conveniently showing up months after the occupation began. Just enough time for them to groom you."

Lorenz scoffed.

"Like I would need to be groomed. I am fully prepared to lead the Alliance now; I know what information to look for and what would undermine peace. Were I a more dubious person, I would not need any petty training from those sloppy Empire bandits on the politics of my own nation." He turned his head so sharply in offense, Claude thought he could hear his neck crack.

"You really did come here to find a way to fix this."

"Naturally. I refuse to let them bully the commoners in Gloucester Territory any longer - we only have a fragile agreement now -if I could just find some way to - cough!" He looked offended at his own interruption "Pardon me, Lalia and I have been riding for days." Claude noted the maid who let him in was still in unkempt from hard riding, and Lorenz himself had not changed out of his own riding garb. The dusty clothes and fatigue did little to diminish his inborn conceit. Lorenz took his saucer to relieve himself with the now luke-warm tea.

Before he could lift the fine porcelain to his lips, Claude leaned over the tea table wordlessly and eased the cup out of his grip. He offered his own cup in it's place. Lorenz looked at him with incredulity. A weary smile crossed his face; he took Claude's cup and drank what remained, then hung his head over the dregs in the bottom.

"If I had become deathly ill, I would have had only myself to blame for such negligence. I should know better." He held out the new cup and Claude refilled it from the pot. "_Me_, Claude?"

"Only under the right circumstances."

There was a heavy air; he finished the fresh tea while Claude loomed over him awkwardly.

"So you're poisoning _potential_ Empire Allies now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I just thought your tea might have gotten cold. That's all." He leaned back into his seat, pouring the suspicious cup into a nearby plant.

  
***

  
"I appreciate your concern, Claude, but it is late. I have told you everything pertinent I know; the rest will need to wait." His formality was flagging, and he wouldn't make a fool of himself in from of the future Duke Riegan. In front of _Claude_. He had outlined the order of Count Gloucester's surrender, the preceding battles and the skirmishes that followed from dissidents: lay people who never agreed to come under the Empire's secular rule. They were put out like a matchstick in a torrent. 

"Right. Where's your room then?" Claude asked; Lorenz thought he misheard, distracted by his thoughts.

"Pardon?" Claude stood and hoisted him out of his chair. Lorenz nearly collapsed.

"Your bedroom. C'mon, it'll be like we're back at Garreg Mach." Lorenz understood what he meant; heat rose to his face, painting the back of his neck with embarrassment at the mention of their time _together_ at Garreg Mach.

"No! It will certainly _not!_ Unhand me-" The journey had really taken it all out of him; the emotional tension had only drained the last of his energy. Claude carried him up the ornate, still dusty stairs and began opening doors. Each room was unlit and fully draped; not wanting of visitors._ He really ran here, unexpectedly. I'll pry __the details from him after breakfast._ The maid rounded the corner.

"Lalia, can you please see to Lord Claude-"

"Lalia? Lovely name. I'm just helping Lorenz get to his room. Which is....?"

"On the r-right, third door." She stifled a yawn.

"Thank you Lalia. We still have much to discuss, so you can retire for the evening. Thank you for all your hard work." The woman looked just as worn as Lorenz... but she was bleary and slow like she had found a nap during their conversation in the sitting room.

The room was immaculate; Lalia's handiwork. Oil lanterns were wavering gently in each corner and by the bedside. The rugs would sill need beating, but the drapes, sheets and blankets were all fresh, though creased with folds. House Gloucester had an affinity for deep purples and golds, with rose accents gracing the details. This room- full of silks, embroidery, and hand carved teak- was made for Lorenz and his dramatic personality. When Claude tossed him on the bed, he became part of the scenery.

He waited for Lorenz to renew his protest, but he was already asleep. Claude leaned over him, studying the bags under his eyes, cheekbones that were a little more prominent than they were when he saw him last, a year earlier here in Derdriu. He had lost weight.

But not muscle. Claude began to undress him for sleeping- riding leathers would make the bed stink like horse- and noticed his hands were more callused than before. He looked around and saw Thyrsus lay neatly across a low dresser, and beside it shone a new lance; perhaps an heirloom, surely priceless and deadly. _Given, or stolen, but definitely used._ _He's been practicing more... or fighting_. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this." He made quick work of boots, belts and braces, sliding Lorenz up and onto a pillow. He wrestled the downy blankets out from under him- sure nothing would wake him now- and draped them across his chest.

_What am I doing?_ He didn't have a plan. Well, that wasn't true- he did have a plan- he had Plan A for if Lorenz was Empire aligned, and he had a Plan B for a tearful and... enthusiastic reunion (he might have romanticized that part quite a bit, he admitted). A war weary and disheartened Lord Gloucester was not part of his design. Lorenz was exactly right- Claude might have been thrust into the political turmoil that the Edelgard's Conquest manifested... but it couldn't be denied, he was relatively safe here in the capital. _This is where I must be. This is where I can lead. Soon._ This is what The Duke, his grandfather told him, what he told himself, but it never consoled him. Driven by his own desires, he would be on the front lines. He would be searching still.

It hit him all at once: he was exhausted, his racing thoughts about possibilities and plans now that Lorenz was here began to weigh on him. Claude rounded the bed, clambering into the other side (the bed was nearly too tall for even a full grown man). Tossing and turning at first, he settled to staring at Lorenz's dark lavender hair. He kept his distance.

At first.

He reached out a single hand, his fingertips barely grazing the royal strands at the back of Lorenz's head. _This bed really was made for four people_. He shuffled a few inches closer to run his fingers through Lorenz's hair properly. One of his pale hands reached up and began to swat at the back of his head... yet he was still out cold.

"Even asleep he pretends to despise me." He whispered. Claude could no longer resist. His fatigue wore on his inhibitions. He twisted his body between the blankets until he came to rest, chest to back, against Lorenz; both hands in his hair this time.

He didn't stir at all.

Claude tucked back a stray lock- his hair was much longer now- and breathed into his ear.

"In the Alliance together... we...we can...." he couldn't remember what his plan was. He was just... so... tired.

  
***

  
Lalia tapped the door softly with a gloved hand to no response. She would not let the house burn down under her care; Lords, Ladies, Dukes and Margraves all dramatically took sleep wherever their heads dropped- pillows, desks, couches, floors- with their lamps still burning.

Turning the door knob gently, she let herself in to find all of the lanterns still wasting. _Lords.Typical._

She _was_ surprised to find the Riegan heir tucked against Lord Lorenz... _But I didn't see anything_. Still, her heart warmed a little to know Lord Lorenz had _allies_ in the city. It was also her peculiar indulgence to see powerful people at rest. For all their social ties and crests, the future leader of the Alliance was mumbling, and the Noble Heir of House Gloucester had always been prone to drooling.

Humans were so _fascinating_.

She turned the lanterns down, and made her leave to open the servants quarters.


	3. Alliance of Two

_"You are all talk, Claude. When I lead the Alliance, your opinions will be count for naught, and your little schemes will not work. I hope you are ready to be deposed before you are even instated."_

_"Funny words coming from a man with a funny hair cut. How about this- if I beat you at a game, you'll stop challenging me... here at the monastery at least. If I have to hear your full name one more time-"_

_"You cannot force people to play your 'games'- least of all **Lorenz Hellman Gloucester**\- and if they will not play they will not work."_

_"I was talking about something more tangible, like chess. But if you want to talk about intrigue, I'm great at getting people to play. My 'little schemes' as you call them, the ones I'm serious about, are so good that the intended target doesn't always have a choice- or realize that they are playing."_

_"That is a bet I will take: if you can force my hand, and make me take action on one of your best laid plans, you win."_

_"Are you sure you want to make it that easy on me? I just have to trick you into doing something? That's awfully vague."_

_"It's simple enough; you overestimate your cleverness, so I propose such a seemingly simple task as a handicap for you. **Lorenz Hellman Gloucester** makes no move that I do not fully intend."_

_"Suite yourself. The rules are simple: the action you take can't be something you were already going to do: for example, I can't say 'going into class means that you were attempting acting on my plan.'"_

_"That should go without statement."_

_"Well, it's stated. The second rule is this: when I've caught you, I've caught you. You aren't allowed to backpedal or deny anything. Your pride won't let you anyway."_

_"I do have standards. Basic sportsmanship? That is simple enough."_

_"Yep. Are you ready to begin?"_

_"Of course. Do your worst, Claude von Riegan!"_

_"Okay. Bye Lorenz."_

_"What? Wait! Aren't you supposed to do something-"_

_"I win."_

_"You did _not_!"_

_"You ran after me. I planned to tease you, make you chase me, and you fell for it. Nobles don't chase after people. Did you plan to grovel after me, Lorenz von Hellmancester?"_

_"It doesn't count! You will address me by my proper title: **Lorenz Hellman Gloucester**."_

_"Made you say your name."_   
  
_"That's not how it works!"_   
  
_ "Fine fine. Just remember I tried to give you the easy way out. It's best to remember a scheme doesn't have to be complex to work."_

Lorenz's memories always returned vividly on the edge of waking: most often about the Officers Academy, fresh as it was on his mind even two years after it's fall. It was a wonder to behold the monastery and it held a special place in his heart; he mourned for the lost history and shattered stonework.

Regrettably, so much of his time in the academy was spent with Claude. Memories of Hilda, Lysithea, or the Professor (or literally _anyone else_) were not so frequent. He rolled over to find the source of his ire mumbling something about "walls" and "freedom" in between words of another language. Uncomfortably close.

Lorenz was not surprised he did not manage to oust the Golden Deer when he was in such a state, but was annoyed to find him on his side of the bed, in his bed at all, in his room or even in the same territory. He tried to pull away, but could not: his hair had become tangled in one of Claude's gold piercings._Vanity. Vile. I will have to scold Lalia for letting this man just take up bed with me when I was in no state to defend myself. What kind of retainer, what kind of warrior maid allows such a thing to occur. He could be trying to kill me, he could be an assassin-_

He let every nasty insult cross his mind to avoid dwelling on how he smelled, or the bristle he felt on Claude's jaw as he tried to untangle his hair. The bed was stifling, too hot, but when he finally freed himself he took the time to brood over the sleeping fool.

He wholly considered throwing him out the window, but it would be uncouth to have Claude von Nuisance found dead outside of Gloucester Hall. He wanted to shake him awake, push him from the bed, and send for his retainers to pick him up like a lost child. But... to send him away now was still too suspect. Someone seen leaving before most wake was gossip, someone leaving midday was simply departing from morning tea. He would have to wait to rid himself of Claude. He would even take the high road and let him sleep.

Some nagging part of him longed to lay back down and sleep just a little longer, to hide from the coming political turmoil, even if it meant sharing a bed.

He shook the thoughts from his mind.

He had work to do.

***

_He's already gone and I managed to sleep through it? No over-enunciated fanciful scolding with flowery words? He's clearly infatuated with me._

Claude laughed to himself, and stared into the gold canopy for a time, admiring the roses and vines embroidered in a damask pattern. He was loathe to face the day, stretching and rolling to all corners of the bed before finally disentangling himself from the duvet- now oppressively heavy in the days heat. Thyrsus and the lance were nowhere to be found, Lorenz's clothes and boots gone as well. He eased open the door, peering into the hall. Voices. He dressed as neatly as he could for having slept in his day clothes, and waited for the unfamiliar voices to leave.

A knock rapped on the door.

"Lord Riegan? Our guests are gone." Lalia announced through the door. Her ears were sharp; she must have heard him tiptoeing around the bedchamber. She opened the door and beckoned for him to come down to the Library.

"Do you oversleep so often, Claude? No wonder Derdriu is in such disarray. If you are an example of House Riegan's commitment to Fodlan, we are doomed." Lorenz was seated behind a stately desk: another flamboyant piece of furniture crossed with roses and- bizarrely- dragons heads along with the Crest of Gloucester. You would never know he was a refugee of sorts: he managed to bring finer clothes in his flight, with all of the stuffy accessories. His hair was braided across the front, neatly to one side so it's new length would not bother him.

"I was counting on your revulsion to wake me at an early hour and see me thrown out of your Hall. My tardiness was only due to your tender affectations." He tried on the flowery language to mock Lorenz and found his place in the chair opposite the desk. He propped his head on his hand, and threw one leg over the arm. "How long did you gaze upon my handsome visage in the dawn light, Lorenz?"

"I had no time to fulfill your strange fantasies. The only reason I did not have you thrown out is because doing so at an early hour would draw attention-" he paused, furrowing his brows "- and I suppose as a small courtesy for both being concerned for my well being and choosing not to_ poison_ me."

"It's certainly not the kindest thing I've ever done for you."

"... Was it _really_ poison?"

"You're overthinking it. Who were your guests this morning?" Lorenz was dissatisfied with the blatant sidestep, but carried on.

"I've been meeting with a trustworthy Lord and explaining the situation on the border"

"It's not a border after it's been occupied."

"Occupation is not annexation. The Empire is satisfied with merely having such a deep foothold in the Alliance - for now."

"And this Lord... how do you know you can trust him?"

"Unlike you, I've lived here all my life. I have a near infallible memory of whose said what sleights against which people and what people now owe their loyalties to which groups."

"I've lived here since I was born, Lorenz, remember? I just wasn't invited to your fancy noble tea parties until I was legitimized at 17."

"...I know you did not reside here in the least. Every fool with eyes knows. We just do not voice it aloud, as a courtesy. An Heir is an Heir, no matter how desperate."

Claude straightened in his chair and holding his hands out in defeat.

"And that same bureaucratic propriety insists I deny it at every turn. So let's change the subject."

"Indeed; you will be leaving now. Lalia has sent a runner to your estate to procure a carriage. You may wait by the front gate."

"Hold on now-"

"Thank you for welcoming me so graciously to my own Hall in the middle of the night-" Claude leaned forward to cut off his haughty dismissal:

"-_your_ Hall in _my_ city. You're forgetting that this is the Riegan Dukedom. I came here to help you, but if you want to put on airs, let's talk about titles and hierarchies. I have you topped." Lorenz stared at him, appalled. His mouth opened, then closed again, but he said nothing. "I let you off easy last night, but it's time to explain to me why you had to leave so quickly." He seated himself again. "I thought the Imperial General occupying Gloucester was neutral? The Count has made it sound like they are there for commerce. There should be no cause for you to _run_ to Derdriu; Lords, Counts, commoners come and go all the time; and the Alliance itself is still neutral. Why did you have so much trouble coming here?"

Lorenz considered his words carefully. He struggled to find his voice, and gazed out of the window for some time with his fingers interlaced. He composed himself, regaining his arrogant air.

"I might have posited a less-than loyalist opinion in confidence that was overheard... or deliberately exposed."

"So much for knowing who you can trust. Your ego is going to get you killed. You should be better at parroting false loyalties." _He's never been good at lying for the long con, though._ Claude considered what he knew of him._ It isn't in him to behave counter to his idea of nobility. He's always been so inflexible to err on the side of justice._

"... It was the right thing to say, if not the best course of action. I had hoped my chivalrous display would bolster those present... but I did not count on those around me being so... faithless. It was a delicate conversation, and I could not stand by the things being said... what was being agreed to. You didn't hear them Claude. Spineless, sniveling cowards looking only to save themselves. Or worse, profit.

"I remained at the Gloucester Estate after it's occupation in hopes to producing a plan to push the Empire back... but the sheer number of soldiers that continued to pour in made it clear that was tacitly unwise. Remaining to form a rebellion would be perilous, only to get more innocent people killed.

"Derdriu is the only place I feel that the Empire cannot yet act freely; they hope to yet sway the 'neutral' Roundtable without force. In the open landscape in between, in border territories and smaller cities, I do not believe they would hesitate to kill me in broad daylight. Here, their correcspndants must act a bit more prudently."

"_Kill_ you? What is your crime? An insult?"

"I merely stated the obvious: that we could not in good conscious believe that siding with Edelgard would be beneficial to the Alliance because there would be no one left to ally if she cut them all down in her conquest for control. I said that Fodlan would waste and wither in her iron grip, particularly the trade we capitalize on, suffering as it already is, and that our best course of action was to maintain our remaining borders with diplomacy and a show of force. I think it was my suggestion that we could, possibly, as a last resort, seek aid from Almyra that discomfited him so, however-"

"- Wait, wait! Him who? Who did you say this to?" _Almyra? Is it so hopeless along the border?_

Lorenz hesitated again. It wasn't adding up to Claude; first it was a group he mentioned, now it was a singular person. All Claude had heard personally was that Gloucester was occupied: but Lorenz spoke as though it had fallen. And he had clearly been fighting. 

"... My father." A look of betrayal crossed his face; surely he already knew that no one overheard them. Lorenz would never be so careless, but the excuse was the only thing that allowed him to hold his chin up under the burden of sharing Count Gloucester's corrupted name.

Claude dropped the conversation and brooded over implications; that Count Gloucester was more than just spineless or complicit, but an actual aggressor feigning defeat. In the quiet interim, Lalia brought in a black breakfast tea, and seated herself in one of the wing-backs nearer the door.

"How did you get out?"

"My Retainer-" he motioned to the woman Claude believed to be a simple maid "-overheard pieces of a larger plan that would 'put me out of the way.' She could not say for certain if this was merely arrest or mortal peril, but we decided not to take the risk. I would hate to be in Lady Edelgard's possession almost as much as I would despise being dispatched too soon."

"I see."

Minutes passed. The tea was poured and the clock ticked over their thoughts.

"Lorenz, I can trust you."

"I should hope you did not come to that conclusion just now. I may despise you, but I put the Leicester Alliance before our petty disputes."

"You're in it now, right? You're not siding with the Empire at all?"

"Not in any measure after the way Edelgard has allowed her generals to behave. But I would not say it so bluntly again. I wasted my privileged position... I made a fool of myself. Fell forward and gutted myself on my chivalrous ideals." His typical, detached demeanor broke. Lorenz was a master at exuding superiority, but for a split second his sneer and clenched fist was reserved for his own naivete.

"Uh...huh. You're going to work for me."

This ludicrous suggestion brought him back. Lorenz laughed aloud, a graceful hand rising to his mouth to cover his mock amusement.

"That's untenable. I have my own designs."

"No doubt rigidly staked into a best case scenario. You aren't a tactician. You lose your composure over every little injustice." Lorenz looked incensed, but didn't disagree. It almost looked like he was ashamed. "That's a _good_ thing. Being inflexible when it comes to justice, to doing what is right is what will make you a great leader... in peaceful times. But it doesn't work in a war."

"Do not put yourself on a pedestal; you are too dubious yourself to lead. You have shifting loyalties and conflicting goals."

"You're wrong. My goals haven't changed, and my loyalties only shift when people reveal that they aren't on my side. But what's important is that I can adjust for my goals, because they _are_ near impossible. It's a dance, and I'm flexible. If needed, I can even match Edelgard's ruthlessness, or turn it back on her.

"But I'm not perfect, either, I'll admit just this once, in private. I can only do so much alone. I've gotten this far relying on people, but no one has been useful or powerful enough to push the boundaries of my plans. With the right support, you're a natural diplomat. I'm asking you to risk your reputation and your life for the Leicester Alliance... and when the time comes, for all of Fodlan."

"ALL of Fodlan?" He laughed again, though this time, it was nervous. "You have a plan that reaches beyond merely securing our own autonomy?"

"Yep!"

"... Well?"

"It's not ready yet."

"That's unacceptable."

"It's too risky to talk about aloud."

"What about your Grandfather? My father? The other Lords of the Roundtable? The Ordelia House is imperiled and near folding as well."

"They might sit at the Roundtable together, but none of them are working together."

"Right."

Claude was clever. He was absolutely right, and aware that he was right. Lorenz admitted that he had his own plans, but with no way to implement them and few allies. He was prepared to do anything, he thought... but when he truly considered it, his 'schemes' went about as far as calling people to do what was right. Which was obvious to him... But what was right for Fodlan, what was beneficial for nobles, what was good for business and what was best for self preservation all clashed on a conceptual battlefield he couldn't navigate.

It was almost a relief. He was willing to take up the mantle, but finally he could admit: he didn't want it. Lorenz extended his hand across the desk. Claude beamed, unsurprised; perhaps just this once he knew Lorenz better than Lorenz knew himself. Claude did not grab his hand, but crossed their forearms to hold him at the elbow: a foreign agreement, one Lorenz was vaguely aware meant a stronger bond, higher stakes. "Do or Die," it implied.

"I will work _with_ you not _for_ you. You are not the Duke _yet_. This is only the condition that you share all of your plans with me without fail. If you must conceal something from me, you must offer a reasonable explanation: I'm choosing to trust you, do not waste it. I will act in the best interest of The Commoners, The Leicester Alliance, and broader Fodlan in that order."

"I agree to those terms."

"I agree to aid you." Lorenz looked across the room: Lalia was already standing, as though waiting for orders. "Lalia. Would you abandon your post with House Gloucester to serve me alone?"

"I will not abandon House Gloucester. But I will recognize you, discreetly of course, as the proprietor who is acting in it's best interest. My servitude to Count Gloucester ends now, as he is no longer fit to bear the name." Pride spread across Lorenz's face. His chest swelled, skin prickling as the mixed fear and euphoria of defying his corrupted father washed over him. He was now a House of two; beholden only to The Alliance, Fodlan, and... Claude. For all his disdain, he knew this was the right path; it felt as easy as following the sun across the sky.

Apprehension and old feelings bloomed like a dormant flower in that sunlight.

***

Lalia departed, considering the matter to be resolved; any good maid would be on her way to sever opposing contacts, make new alliances, and sow false rumors among her peers to throw off would-be spies. _I should keep an eye on her all the same. A retainer acting as a maid... a disguise of sorts?_ Claude had few prejudices, but chief among them were people with green eyes and green hair both; the features unsettled him since his time at the monastery. Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn were hiding something, and the professor offered a glimpse into the truth. His heart ached a little.

Claude turned back to Lorenz to find him flustered; he seemed to be having second thoughts: blanched pale, but the back of his neck red as the roses he was so fond of. He released his grip on their pact and drew away.

"Well don't you look sick." Claude was left with his arm extended. "We've already made a pact, you don't get to change your mind. I forgot to mention the _severe_ and _definitely very scary_ penalties for rescinding support." He joked, but Lorenz simply nodded.

"I'm... well aware." Claude tilted his head in curiosity, as Lorenz continued to stand motionless. He raised his hand to his mouth and lowered his gaze- like he really was going to be sick.

"Do you need to step outside?"

"Not at all."

"Look, I know its hard to just abandon your entire holdings, betray your traitor father and take the weight of the world on your shoulders. But hey! I'm here."

"That is precisely the problem." Lorenz mumbled, moving from behind the desk to the window overlooking the garden. Claude paid little attention to his disdain- as usual- and moved to stand beside him to see what was so interesting outside. He noted a new habit: Lorenz was stroking a length of hair, now reaching past his chin in the front. _He's... worried, maybe_?

"Lorenz, it's gonna be fine-" He looked down to find one of Lorenz's white gloved hands absently grazing the back of his own. He still stared too intently out of the window. Not so impotent as typical nobles, he seized Lorenz's hand, then the other. He pulled them up to his lips to run them over each finger.

Lorenz drew in a sharp breath, and had no choice but to meet Claude's eyes when he looked up from kissing his hands. He must have seen the look of terror; of his choices, or of his feelings, it made no difference. He lowered Lorenz's hands slowly, and made to leave without speaking.

"Claude." He stopped in the doorway and turned back only slightly. "I will be prepared tomorrow to begin acting on your plans."

"I'll be back early in the morning. Don't make any more arrangements, even with those you trust."

"Fine."

When he was gone, Lorenz crossed the room to the street facing window to see him off into his carriage. Instead, Claude walked into the middle of the street, put his fingers in between his lips and whistled.

"Oh no."

RRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

  
Lorenz heard the roof tiles of the neighboring hall falling into the street, a cacophony of shattering. An untrained wyvern crashed into the road, nuzzling Claude to say: _get on_.

"Oh _no_." _He's a manchild. He's riding an untrained wyvern around like it's not a shameful display of reckless abandon._

Claude vaulted onto the unsaddled beast, threw up his childish wave, and set off: making no reparations for the damage. _The city must be billing the Riegan Estate daily._

This time, he really did feel a sting of regret about allying with the mysterious, childish, foolish Riegan heir. He needed distraction.

"Lalia, prepare us to go out into the city."


	4. Off Day: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

Gloucester Hall was near the city center, not far from the Alliance's Roundtable Governance, which flanked the main square sitting across from the Central Bank. It was all level, as it was carefully composed of hewn brick stacked into the bay to set the city out over the water. Only Riegan Hall, the satellite house of Riegan Estate, was elevated. Built atop a shallow, natural cliff, it looked over the city and across the sea.

It reminded Lorenz of Claude's far-fetched ideals. 

Lorenz might criticize the state of Derdriu when any major Lord was in earshot, but it was orderly as ever. The water cascading through the canals was cleaner than his last visit, its once ruddy color now a surreal azure. The sandy stone bricks had been scrubbed recently along the main roads. The people, even, looked fresher and more tidy; if war was good for anything, it was good for commerce, and turning a profit made people glow, made them productive.

Lorenz and Lalia aimed straight for the heart of the city. He was decidedly against hiding, despite Lalia's insistence on a disguise when leaving the estate; in fact he would make a show of his presence. The people who mattered would already know he was here.

Naturally, House Gloucester, their characteristic iris colored hair, and Lorenz specifically were well known throughout the Alliance: especially in Derdriu. The Major Gloucester Crest was emblazoned on all that he owned. It would not do to appear so sheepish as hiding under a poorly hood. He planned to make no more rash decisions, but neither would he hide. Thyrsus, strapped to his back, haloed his distinct hair, and it had it's intended effect: calling due attention to the arrival of the Heir of Gloucester. 

Lalia, too, drew her own gazes for her outlandish beauty. Such a lush green of eye and hair beckoned to mind images of Saint Seiros and the Archbishop; and she used them too well manipulate her way through the politics of nobles and culture of commoners alike. Loyalty from such a Servant (as they saw her) was yet another sign of Lorenz's superior position. Such a distinct woman being relatively unknown was a merit to her abilities as a spy.

The whispers were poorly concealed, if they bothered to conceal them at all. Being seen was a strategic move, to allay any talk of cowardice or false reports of death. It occurred to him the night prior that if Claude managed to obtain information on his whereabouts precisely enough to meet him when he arrived, then information and rumors had far preceded him.

After circling the main square, they shopped the winding market that ran parallel between the bank and the Council Hall: for provisions and suitable raiment. While browsing, Lorenz stumbled on a rosy perfume in a glass bottle that meandered in soft swirls. It reminded him there was at least one, true ally who might be in the city. He picked up the perfume: it was beyond the paltry budget he kept as outcast. He would have to visit Hilda empty handed.

"Let us see if anyone is occupying House Goneril's Derdriu Home." Lorenz said to Lalia, a bit downtrodden about the perfume. 

"Is that wise? Lord Riegan said not to meet with anyone else- not even those you trusted."

"Visiting Hilda is not about business. She is a good friend to Claude as well. If it so puts you at ease, we will visit in the street like gossiping wives." She huffed but followed him all the same.

They crossed several bridges over the deep, winding channels of Derdriu, where boats transported goods more often than carts. Goneril Estate was on the outskirts, farthest from the Central Square than the town homes of the other Lords of the Roundtable. It was some forty-five minutes walk from Gloucester Hall, but took an hour to meander through the crowds. The secondary streets narrowed considerably, and late afternoon was their busiest.

The gate lantern was lit, signalling the presence of at least one of the Goneril Family: Lalia bade him wait in the street while she inquired with the gate guard. For all the hardship that had passed in the preceding weeks, it was only now that Lorenz's heart felt somewhat at peace. To think on Hilda was a respite. He had written her very little, her own returned letters perfunctory and distant, the bare necessities of formal acquaintances. He had seen her only once in the capital, and then only in passing.

Lorenz returned from his daydreams; he could see the guard shaking his head even from this distance. They continued to speak at length; Lalia extracting what she could from the old man. He gazed toward the estate while she gleaned information. _Holst would not leave Fodlan's Locket, and Duke Goneril isn't due in the city for another week. Perhaps her mother-_

Through a window he saw Duke Goneril himself.

He had been seen as well. It was too late.

His intention of being seen, all fine robes, lavender hair glowing, had rebounded on him. Duke Goneril was on the walk making for the gate before Lorenz could signal Lalia to depart. There was no way to leave gracefully now; to do so after having made visual contact would be a sleight.

"Lorenz! I was unaware you would be visiting Derdriu so soon! Come, come in!"

The man was kindly but loud, a thundering giant... but a likely ally. Not one for shouting across an uncomfortable distance, Lorenz approached the gate to greet him properly. The man slung the twelve foot gate open as though it were a ply-board garden gate rather than a wrought iron defense.

"Good Afternoon Duke Goneril. You are in the city earlier than I had expected."

"It's true, boy! There's more business to attend to these days than I can fit into my typical stay in Derdriu. I'd say I'm barely home anymore. You must come in and speak with me; horrible business what's happening with your father. There's tea waiting-"

"That's very gracious of you Duke, yet I fear I must decline; I was on my way to another engagement. I merely passed Goneril estate and sought to invite Hilda to tea at a later date."

"Oh, Hilda? Not her old man though, huh?"

"N-No offense intended, Duke- I merely hoped to catch up on our Academy days, but if it is not an inconvenience to you, you would be most welcome to tea at Gloucester Hall later this week. I dare not ask to waste your time, however."

"Spoken like a politician! As it stands, such a frivolity might be more of an inconvenience to Hilda. She's been so busy running the Household affairs in my absence; with gratuitous success, I would add. I'm just here to listen to lesser Lords squabble about this war between the empire and kingdom I hear so much about." In his mind, Lorenz dearly hoped that was a crude joke on Duke Goneril's part. _He mentions the conflict in Gloucester territory so causally, yet has to audacity to suggest the Leicester Alliance was not involved? The way Claude spoke, that is what everyone seems to believe..._

He chose instead to focus on Hilda, rather than invite a dispute.

"I am unsurprised at Hilda's success; she was so studious when we were studying together under Professor Byleth. A burgeoning diplomat."

"Too true! You know Lorenz, you're a good kid." Lorenz bristled. _Boy. Kid. I am a Lord at any age. Is such a man _truly _an indispensable ally, I wonder__-_ "Everything will work out in the end. I just hope we can work together." Goneril extended his hand.

A natural distrust was necessitated: denying a handshake seemed so petty, but taking it would begin to circulate rumors by anyone who might be watching. Gateguards, maids, passerbys. Lord Goneril himself might embellish what was said and what was agreed to. Handshakes made in back allies on vague pleasantries were tricky business. Lorenz bowed slightly, opting to place his hand across his heart. He was sure the over exuberant man bore no ill will, but took caution all the same.

"Thank you, Duke Goneril. I value cooperation among all of the Houses of the Roundtable immensely. If you write Hilda, please tell her to expect a letter from me soon." The man seemed a bit taken aback, but decided to clap Lorenz on the shoulder as a consolation.

"Of course!"

The departing pleasantries were made ad nausea. Lorenz and Lalia finally escaped as the sky turned gold and pink.

"You're making a fine mess." She scolded him after several bridges were crossed.

"I navigated that situation very deftly, you must admit; but on our next course of action I _will _take your lead."

"Good. We're returning to the Hall."

"A breathtaking strategy."

* * *

The evening before was brief, as exhausted as Lorenz remained from the journey he found his bed before the light was gone from the sky. He woke before the sun, Lalia already managing the house before birdsong. He made his way to the library; it had always been Lorenz's most occupied room, everything important within arms length. To read, to write, to reference or relax, there was nothing short of a kitchen and privy a library did not provide. In his more poetic moods, he considered that if human spirit took any form, it would be such a haven.

He spent some hours merely thinking with a warm cup in his hands, recovering from the loss of his childhood home. The single candle that lit the room burned out before daybreak, allowing the sun to paint the room from grey, to pink, to soft yellows and blues.

Lorenz finally shook himself from his daze with the sunrise. Lalia could not do everything alone: he attended the small breakfast she made, tended to the horses, and uncovered some of the vacant rooms before lunch. _We must hire people but... Can I still access the Gloucester fortune? Can I issue orders in my father's name, I wonder..._ His hands were by no means delicate, but his noble time might be better spent in the days ahead.

He finished with the labor, and returned to the library once more. There was at least one letter he could write without incurring any further mistakes. He poured over it for an hour or more; all the words he had considered writing in the early hours were not nearly fine enough on second thought. The empty parchment drew him in. He had only the named penned lovingly across the top.

"Writing to Hilda?"

"GAAAAAHHHhh!!" Lorenz stood quickly, upending his chair and brandishing the pen like a knife. Claude was standing with his arms crossed, very pleased at the overreaction. "Lalia! You- This man- You let in-!"

Lalia was in the doorway within seconds, short sword drawn.

"She didn't let me in. Your house is wide open. _I_ came through the window." Lorenz looked to see that the second-story window, just to his left, was ajar. "You should be more aware of your surroundings. Hire guards."

"You! YOU! Get out! Come in the front door like you have some degree of noble blood running through you!" He launched the pen at Claude like a child, unable to contain his fury.

"Come now." He picked Lorenz's chair up and straightened the letter. "Attacking me for my sage advice? That's hardly a noble welcome."

Lalia had already lowered her sword and returned to whatever task she had at hand, deeply disturbed by the trespass. She decided the dusting was not so important, and went to the drawing room to begin writing letters of hire for the guards Claude suggested.

"I am not taking guests right now!"

"You said you would be ready in the morning, and it's already past noon. I thought you may require some time to prepare."

"So you are** late**."

"Are you gonna explain to me why you visited Duke Goneril?" He dodged the accusation.

"Must I? Is it not obvious? You have already read my letter, asking me to spell it out is not clever in the least!"

"Ahh, Dearest Hilda. 'Whose voice at it's softest implores men to act, soldiers would turn on their generals or fall upon their swords for her praise.' That was my favorite line. Do you still keep all your old poetry?"

"I burned all of it after you continued to hunt it down time and again!" The heat rose to his face; he was too easy to torment. Lorenz considered through gritted teeth why he must work with this would-be rogue posing as a Lord. The relief and pride he had experienced before their agreement yesterday was quickly wearing down. He pressed his hands to his temples.

"Claude, I am trying my absolute best to come to terms with our arrangement, but I cannot do so if you continue to behave like I am a toy rather than a partner." He took a deep breath. "Please, have a seat. Tell me what our next course of action is."

Claude sobered, but didn't offer apology or show any sign of shame. He continued, now with a more restrained smirk.

"Well, you were incidentally on the right track. Duke Goneril is our easiest ally for the first part of the plan. "

"Excellent. I already have tea arranged with him at his estate - tomorrow."

"Oh? That's news to me. My contacts are slacking. As for Hilda, I've kept in touch with her myself; she has been elucidating her father's position, and beginning to press her own influence. Not that Duke Goneril is planning to side with the empire at all; his only concern is, as always, Almyra. It's Hilda's maneuvering that keeps her father in Derdriu so often, so that she can better manage the territory through her mother. Soon he'll be forced to face reality: that the battle is here, on the western side of the Alliance."

"It is true; when we met briefly, he referred to it as the war between the Kingdom and the Empire. But about Hilda. Will she visit Derdriu at all? She was so graceful, I wonder how lovely she has grown since our last parting-"

"She doesn't have any business here at the time, so she has no reason to come to the city." He could see right through Lorenz, not without a tinge of jealousy. He began to lose focus on his own machinations; all his time, every minute of his day was planning and being suspicious of everyone around him; trying to think one step ahead of every individuals possible ill motive. But Lorenz was different, predictable. He didn't have to suspect or think ahead of Lorenz at all. He was transparent, honest when you had his word. Bad at lying. Good at sidestepping, but Claude knew his tells.

Teasing Lorenz was one of his few past times that put him at ease, but could admit now he was putting a strain on their partnership... and likely adding stress to what had already been a devastating series of events. _We should both take a break . I'm pushing too hard and moving to fast._

"You know what? I'm beat. We can talk about the rest of the plan for Duke Goneril later. I haven't welcomed you properly." He produced a bottle from a pack that Lorenz had yet to notice. "Your favorite."

"That is _not_ my favorite-"

It was.

"-And if it were, I would not drink it with you-"

He would drink such a fine wine with a bear, if need be.

"-But I supposed it would be rude of me to decline-”

He could not resist.

“-It would be too indulgent of me to enjoy more than a half glass.”

In hindsight, Lorenz was not yet prepared to start maneuvering against powerful Lords. Upon further self-reflection, he found himself terrified. He might consider, in such troubling times, permitting himself _two_ glasses. Perhaps more.


	5. Off Day: Part 2

"We wouldn't want to get too careless around all these books. Should we take it in the bedroom?" Claude suggested. They stepped out of the library in tandem, arguing about the best location for day drinking.

"Careless? I am having one half-glass. To take the edge off. You can drink in the garden if you are so thoughtlessly planning on making any sort of mess." He reached for the bottle. "However, do not vomit on my roses."

Claude twisted the wine just out of Lorenz's reach, passing it behind his back from one hand to the other. He considered holding it over Lorenz's head before he realized he had only lost height to him in the past years. It seemed he was done growing, but Lorenz had gained at least two inches.

"I didn't bring this here to drink alone. Or tastefully. We drink together and make a mess or I take this back to the Riegan Estate and treat the servants."

"Such a petty display, to regift a gift already given- you would _not_." He looked genuinely hurt. _So much for his earlier feigned reluctance._

"I haven't technically given you anything. But you're right, it would be unfair to the staff to receive a second-hand gift. I would pour it into the river." Lorenz scoffed. "We could compromise on the dining hall instead of the city's canals."

"_Fine_."

They entered the dinning hall; not so grand as the primary estate, but still wanting for twenty nobles and ten servants. Instead of hunting down Lalia in the sprawling Hall, Lorenz began to light the lanterns himself. The curtains would not be drawn back for such a crude past time.

"_Fuir_." He whispered each time he waved a hand beside a lantern.

"I remember when you struggled to cast a simple fire spell. It's amazing how precise you've made it." Claude began to search the butler's pantry for glasses.

"Practice."

"Obviously. How do you keep the oil from exploding?"

"I tried it on candles first. When I no longer melted the candlestick, I moved to lanterns. A lantern wick requires much the same focus."

"Impressive. I would have just started with lanterns, wasting them until I got it right."

"That sort of attitude is exactly why I cannot bear to leave you to your own devices." Claude finally found the pantry containing the crystal, and removed two wine glasses. He filled each cup dangerously near to the brim. He wasn't so unrefined, half a glass was the standard: but he intended to convince Lorenz to drink deep. To take more than an edge off. He was too anxious under all that bravado.

The lanterns lit, Lorenz took the chair at the head of the table. Claude took a chair to his left, extending the full wineglass. Lorenz grimaced, but then inhaled deeply.

"It has a lovely fragrance." Claude was rarely allowed to see Lorenz's face soften. It seemed red wine was one method of two; catching him writing _to_ Hilda or _about_ Hilda was another.

_What an unpleasant thought._

Claude drained his glass in minutes, and poured another.

"If you don't keep up with me, I'm going to drink all of your wine."

"Absolutely not! Wine is _not_ for chugging. This is _crystal_, not a stein." Claude had drained another three quarters glass during his scolding.

"The threat stannnds." He reached for the bottle. Lorenz snatched it, cradling it away from Claude.

"Looooorennnzzz." He was still aware, but feeling good. It was a little stronger than he expected. "Just one more."

"I'm savoring. You will have to wait."

"Ughhhh." He leaned back. "How many do you think it will take?"

"What will take?"

"Until you like me a little better."

"The bottle is far too small for that." He set it back on the table. "Now restrain yourself. I cannot concentrate."

"That's... is the opposite of what you're to do." His second glass was empty.

"I cannot relax with you racing me, dammit. Do you ever stop playing your games?" Lorenz flushed at his own temper.

"Hnhnhnhn. There's who I like." He tipped the wine stem back again, aiming for droplets. He poured another glass while Lorenz was distracted 'savoring,' but let it on the table. "I'll let you catch up."

Lorenz sipped the remaining wine slowly, enjoying the gift. Miraculously, the glass Claude promised not to touch was losing its content each time Lorenz looked away.

After finishing his first glass, he was barely humming, but just enough to relax. He looked to Claude: reclined in the chair, one leg thrown up on the table. The wine stem was steady rolling between his fingers as he studied Lorenz intimately. His other hand lay draped across his lap, his thumb tracing slow circles against his pants. Claude made no attempts to conceal his pleasure, running his eyes over Lorenz: they settled most often about his hips. He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth.

Lorenz looked to the shuttered windows and the closed door. _Someone_ had locked it.

"Can I sleep here?" Claude asked in a deep purr.

"Of course not. This is the dining hall." Lorenz's head was buzzing pleasantly.

"h. hahaa. PFfft hahaha!" _A real laugh.... oh Goddess. _Lorenz tipped the bottle into Claude's glass, replacing the wine that mysteriously vanished.

"Drink" he urged. Claude raised the glass in a mock toast, nodding in thanks. He took this glass slowly, his hazy green eyes locked into Lorenz's.

"More" Lorenz breathed, leaning forward to grip Claude's thigh. He tipped the glass back obediently.

"I think I'm in enough to forget anything you are." He said confidently, unaware it was half gibberish; but Lorenz understood the intention behind the words. A simple arrangement they had learned together: a drunken Claude could remember very little, just as Lorenz preferred.

"Probably." He placed his other hand on Claude's elevated leg; pushing hard as he slid his hands up and down, never quite far enough. Claude remained stoic, just to tease him, admiring Lorenz's quickening breath and furrowed brows. Lorenz began to cast glances at him, too nervous to escalate his advances. It had been _well_ over a two years.

Claude pushed him back slowly by the chest. Pressed into the back of his chair, Claude slid his hands softly on either side of Lorenz's face, to smooth through the otherworldly lavender hair. Lorenz's tension left him. His body slackened, eyes fluttered closed in a sort of relief. Against his pale skin, Claude could see even his eyelashes were a deep violet; he had forgotten. This close, the singular Gloucester palette seemed divine.

A deep, satisfied sigh rumbled in Lorenz's throat.

_Finally_.

"Here." He pulled Lorenz's hand up to his chest: where he unbuttoned his shirt expertly, one-handed. Lorenz's own shirt was easily pulled aside. Claude leaned into him to breath against his neck.

"Nnnnn...."

"Shhh." Claude pulled back his own shirt, sliding it off into the chair. Lorenz's hands ran over his chest, his shoulders, locking together behind his neck. He pressed his face against his thick, brown hair, inhaling deeply, while Claude rolled his tongue along Lorenz's neck.

"Please." He pressed a kiss to Claude's temple. "Claude-" He nudged his head and pressed another kiss along his cheekbone.

He let Lorenz beg his way across his jawline, his chin, until their lips pressed together.

The facing chairs became awkward, knees hitting against the heavy cherrywood, straining to close the gap. Claude wrapped an arm around Lorenz, pulling him into the carpeted floor in between, kicking the opposite chair away. He gently parted Lorenz lips with his thumb, to slide his tongue in between them.

He reached above his head to shove his own chair out of the way.

Heavy wood, top laden, it tipped-

-crashing, it's delicate carvings splintering against the stone floor.

The noise was distant from his labored breathing, distracted as he was with Lorenz pressed into rhythmic breathless sighs under his weight. They ignored the sound.

But Lalia could not, having been chastised by an earlier intruder.

There were only two raps before the locked door burst open in a thunder of light. Claude and Lorenz had no time to even cower, blinded momentarily by the sudden flash.

"Lord Lorenz! I heard-!" She gaped. The two rolled in the floor, half dressed, full mast, clutching their eyes and groaning. She assumed the worst, placing a boot on the Riegan Heir's neck. "What has he done to you, my Lord?"

"Lalia! No! Just leave!" Lorenz curled around his middle, to hide his embarrassment. Claude had no such shame, or mobility. He lay prostrate and whining.

"My _eyessssssss. _Uggggggggggh_-_" The wine still running through him.

"You need medical attention, Lord Lorenz"

"Later!" Lalia ignored him, scooped him up under his arms, and began to drag him out of the dinning hall.

Claude would be left in the floor, seeing stars for an hour, to reflect.

* * *

"This is your due punishment, what you have earned for toying with me-"

"You had no small part in it, _my Lord_." Claude suggested, still buzzing, trying to regain lost ground while Lalia treated his eyes.

"How much do you recall?"

"Ehh, it's hazy after the second glass."

Claude was never as drunk as he let on (a great skill for eavesdropping), but it was a peculiar hangup of Lorenz's that Claude need be incapacitated; he imagined it excused some degree of impropriety, and he could deflect blame.

Though it was not uncommon for younger Lords to take lovers when in Derdriu on longstanding business, Lorenz had strange ideals about right and wrong... but mostly his pride could not manage without a well crafted excuse: not with a Riegan, with the Duke's heir. The presumed inebriation allowed him to relax: a bizarre loophole they discovered while smuggling "recreational" drinks into the Officers Academy. Claude was no casual drinker, and the adrenaline of undressing typically sobered him very quickly; but Lorenz would remain ignorant to this fact as long as he could manage.

"Very well. We will begin again on your grand scheme tomorrow; no more distractions, or I will align myself with another anti-empire house." For once, Claude managed to at least _appear_ remorseful, though Lorenz could never tell how sincere he was. "Please correspond with me, early, what information you would like for me to discuss with Lord Goneril. He will arrive at noon."

"I'll deliver it myself-"

"-That will not be necessary. I am sure you have many other matters to attend to."

"Right." He _was _irritatinglyright.

"There is one additional matter- the untrained wyvern you took yesterday-"

"...Thassia? She escaped when they tried to send me my own wyvern. She's just a baby." Claude straightened his shirt, and donned his overcoat.

"I see. You should take better precaution not to make a spectacle of yourself. How can anyone in this city take you seriously-"

"Anyone's opinion on what kind of wyvern I ride has nothing to do with politics." He massaged his temples "And Thassia is being trained as a gift to another house; she's a very important ambassador."

"A gift? What House does not raise it's own wyverns?" _He _must _take better care with his presentation; a careless reputation is no small matter. We'll discuss it another time._

"Oh they all do. But this one is special. For a close friend."

"Who would be... ?"

"Hilda, of course. Goodbye Lorenz." With that he turned and left. Envy rose up in Lorenz. After being humiliated in the dining hall so thoroughly, it broke his spirit to think of Hilda receiving an entire wyvern from _Claude_. His first, cruel thought was to assume the wyvern was a proposal, but he couldn't bear to dwell on it. He could... possibly, carefully, delicately inquire with Lord Goneril himself.

It also reminded him, again, that he had nothing to his name; even in this house he was technically a squatter. He would soon need to test his connection to the wealth of House Gloucester, and take hold of what he could legally claim. His pride was beyond repair.

_Could I seize the assets of House Gloucester here in Derdriu?_ It would no doubt bring to a head the careful balance that the Roundtable maintained: for now they were merely in disagreement, but if Lorenz was allowed by all to lay claim to the wealth of an occupied territory... the situation would crumble very quickly. Lorenz knew nothing of claiming assets; to seize money was to seize power. In fact, he may need to speak with someone more senior on the matter than his one, and regrettably only, partner. Who could he trust that Claude would also approve... even if he went behind his back?

_Judith would know._


	6. Regrouping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

Claude returned to the Riegan estate in a mood. Early. Disheveled. Meeting the friendly of greetings of the servants with only a polite nod. Meandering to his room, he lay face down on his bed.

_I messed up. Too much, too soon. I let myself get distracted. I was caught off guard and blinded and healed by a suspicious retainer. She could be anyone. She could be an assassin, for all I know. Anyone from house Gloucester is dangerous. Lorenz is dangerous... I'm too close._ He groaned into the bedspread, letting the embarrassment wash over him.

Most lords would pride themselves to ponder their misfortunes in a regal chair, or behind a stately desk, smoking a pipe or sipping a cup of tea to regain their confidence. Claude looked to the stars from his balcony to plan for the future and regroup from mistakes... but found he preferred face down in bed when he had made an absolute fool of himself.

_Drinking in the middle of the day, making advances on an ally. What is wrong with me._ He didn't make a habit of self pity, and resolved to regroup. In ten minutes. _I just want one day to not think about the war. _He answered himself.

The news of the surrender of House Ordelia had come earlier in the morning, delaying his visit with Lorenz. It was a hard blow. The Empire now had a foothold across the Western Alliance and entire southern border. His personal concern was the whereabouts of Lysithea von Ordelia; her parents reported to be under house arrest, but no mention of their only heir.

Lorenz was a beacon; Claude had no trouble gathering intel on his short travel from Gloucester to Derdriu. But Lysithea was more like a cat: clever and wary. She could hide forever. Ordelia territory was much farther away, at their southernmost border. Naturally, his contacts could only work so fast; it had been less than ten hours since they received the news... he could only hope she had fled to House Gonereil. He considered that his frantic concern for Lysithea had spilled over, influencing his recklessness.

Only a few moments of dizzy self reflection passed before a knock came. He stood just before the door opened, to appear less pathetic.

"Lord Claude, Duke Riegan would like a word with you."

"Yes, thank you Alvina."

The estate was extensive. The relatively short walk to the Duke's office took five minutes; more time to recover his confidence. When he rebounded from defeat, he did so genuinely: there was no need for posturing. He reoriented himself on his goals, and decided to keep Lorenz at arms length, and treat him like any Lord. A closer relationship was long past for them.

_But he was enthusiastic when he let his guard down_\- He pushed the thought away.

He arrived outside of his Grandfather's office, refreshed; the doormen pulled open the massive wooden doors, inlaid with the House crest. To call it an office was a bit misleading; it was arranged more like a council room, with Duke Riegan's large desk against the short end of two long council tables. The walls were likewise too tall, too grand for an office, hung with tapestries and ancient weapons that were oiled monthly: pristine in condition. That they remained intact was surprising, considering the slow collapse of House Riegan a few years prior. The office was immaculate for show; the rest of the Estate was still recovering.

The centerpiece of this collection was Failnought: the Relic Bow of the first Riegan pf Legend, ally to Seiros. This piece was not allowed to be touched, and the maids were glad: it was said to have a pulse, and some claimed that it moved on it's own at times. It had been neglected since his mother's departure. Claude liked to believe she left it for him, knowing he would be back: he made it a point to acknowledge it like an old friend, even before offering his Grandfather respects.

"Welcome, Claude, please take a seat here. We are almost finished." Claude's eyes lowered from Failnaught to the seat on the Duke's right. A round man with beady eyes sat to his left.

"Thank You, Duke Riegan." Claude greeted him formally, owing to the presence of a guest.

"As I was saying, Duke, you cannot continue to waver on this matter for long. With the fall of House Ordelia, the Empire is forming a wall that will sweep across the Alliance, causing open conflict. We must act." The little man, a major merchant who held commercial power and a Minor Lord's council seat, continued.

"Councilor, we discuss this matter weekly at the Minor Council. Why you feel the need to come bother me at my personal estate about it the very same matter eludes me. If you would care to elaborate further: perhaps you have some new information you are withholding from the Major Houses?" The man was already sweating profusely, but his countenance became more seedy. He wiped his brow.

"Nothing worth your trouble, Duke. It is simply the fall of Ordelia IS new information. We have only seen profits rise; but the situation is becoming precarious. I don't care for risks. If the Empire were to take control of the Leicester Alliance, we could avoid several years of an uncertain war. It would facilitate wider trade with the rest of the Empire-"

"The _rest_ of the Empire? Have you already sworn allegiance to Edgelgard, my Lord?" The man began stuttering. "If you have, I should thank you. You're lobbying so poorly for their cause, it brings me relief to know only the ignorant among us are being pilfered."

"O-of course I haven't! That isn't what I was meaning to-"

"If that is the case, you may find your way out. As I said before, this is nothing I have not heard. If you want to confess, perhaps that would interest me, but as it is I am busy maintaining the peace."

"I will be out of your way at once, Sir Duke, pardon me." The man struggled across the room, quick and crooked. The Duke beckoned a maid to his side.

"Make sure that he is followed. Rats like him will panic and run directly to their master." she offered a shallow bow, and disappeared behind one of the servants curtains. "And You."

"Yes sir, Grandfather?"

"Stop colluding with the Gloucester boy. You've been seen moving in and out of Gloucester Hall in the past two days."

"I'm just so overjoyed that one of my peers from the Academy is in the city. We're catching up, that's all."

"You take me for a fool? What are you planning?"

"What are_ you_ planning?" They had circled this conversation dozens of times in the past year. Duke Riegan had to tread carefully around his grandson, who would take matters into his own hands given too much information. Claude sat in on the Roundtable discussions, but knew the real stratagem took place in this very office and the Duke's ready room in the Council Hall... which he was excluded from.

"I cannot have you making inflammatory moves contrary to my own goals. We could work together, but-"

"-But your way of doing things only half works; your plans are toothless. You're too busy trying not to make anyone angry, that you're alienating everyone. They'll form their own allegiances without you."

"Do not lecture me on politics, child." The Duke was stern of voice, but slow to truly anger.

"Look, my plans don't involve you or the Roundtable. Besides, If you don't know, you can't be held accountable, right? This works out best for both of us. If I'm found out, or captured, or something else dramatic, you have a true claim to ignorance. I could even stop attending the Roundtables."

His Grandfather let out a long breath, and leaned forward on the table. He laced his fingers together in thought, accented by a single cough.

"This is a delicate situation and you are treating it like a game. I want you to understand, the only reason I have yet to include you in my own machinations is because you display an alarming devotion to immaturity. As your Grandfather, I am proud that you are so resourceful, but as a Duke keeping a delicate balance, you are rattling the scales."

"Maintaining neutrality in a war is immature; Duke Goneril himself believes this war is 'between the Kingdom and the Empire.' Your own peers are displaying an alarming fealty to ignorance."

"Duke Goneril has always been single-minded - focused on Almyra."

"You're the leader of the Alliance - aren't you supposed to force him to refocus his efforts?"

"It might surprise you to find that the other Lords, although hierarchically beneath my rule, have minds of their own. We are an Alliance and not an Empire for that reason. I cannot simply order one to ignore his own imperiled borders and abandon his territories."

"His borders wouldn't be imperiled if you sent diplomats to Almyra-"

"Who would I send, Claude?"

"Me. Maybe Judith. I'm sure there are others who are not opposed to Almyran Ally-ship."

"You would name a declining House Daphnel and yourself, only 21. Do you think these truces happen over night?"

The Duke rose, standing at his desk to better view the map etched into it's surface. He looked down at Claude with disappointment on his face.

"I am sure you have the notion that if everyone plays nice, that there can be peace between the two countries, but now is not the time. You must understand that war has weakened us: to open up to Almyra - a unified and organized country- is to invite attack. Fodlan's Locket is locked tight for a reason. Save your dreams for a world without war.

"You have had so little time in this country, and maybe you see no difference between it's people and those of the broader world. But look around." He flourished "Even within Fodlan, where we speak the same language, eat the same food, and worship the same Goddess, the petty differences pit people against one another." He sat once more. "And so it seems even within our own Houses. I do not wish to be at odds with you any longer. Do what you will on your own, but do not involve me."

"... You really don't want to know anything, even if it could help you?"

"I can't be accountable for your renegade maneuvers. You said it yourself." He looked tired. He almost looked unwell. "If I find your life is in danger, I will make it known, and I would wish you offer me the same courtesy."

"Yes sir."

"Don't sir me. Come, dinner will be prepared soon. You can tell me about this wyvern you've been training."

"She won't let anyone else handle her. She has an attitude, which will be perfect for her rider."

"She is not for you, then? Part of one of your schemes?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to ask?"

"A joke."

"No scheme; Hilda Goneril is training to be a wyvern knight. I decided to give her one as a token of friendship."

"A proposal?"

"A Proposal of Enduring Friendship, yes."

"Careful not to give her the wrong idea. You've said she is a master with an axe; I would not risk the fury of such a woman."

"She is terrifying. One of many reasons I keep her close."

* * *

Claude enjoyed time with his Grandfather- but even after four years in his company, the relationship was awkward. The conversations were a little bit too cut and dry; any discussion of politics was as close as they came to genuine heart to hearts, but those were ripe with disagreements.

It left him quite alone.

He lay in bed staring into the ceiling, where he had golden stars etched for nights when the clouds obscured his view.

As the future heir, he could easily remedy that loneliness. Superficially. There were any number of wanting women and men, many of them noble, crested, beautiful, and some even clever. He considered visiting Almyra, where he might find someone to keep him company, but it would be a scandal to bring them back.

Any time he tried to consider the notion, his mind only returned to his favorites, those who he couldn't have for some obstacle or another. _Of course_ he considered proposing to Hilda, but it would be premature: such a proposal must wait out the war, and his crowning in Almyra, a decade at least; and she had her own affairs and house to attend...It also, plainly, didn't feel _right_. 

It was out of the question for Lorenz as well: all the same problems that arose with Hilda, on top of his pride and loathing. His loyalty to his father, the only time he became spineless. Claude made a deliberate point to trust him against his intuition, and not without some carnal guidance, but to think of _more_ than that was foolish.

No, to keep someone with him at all times, it would have to be a commoner with no commitments. He had met many fantastic commoners... but none who he could love.

It was a lonely life as an Heir to a Crest, a noble House, and in Claude's case, Prince to a distant Kingdom. There was no one who was truly, really...

His heart beat cold. Of course, there had been. He thought on Byleth infrequently; it dredged up the mourning that had burrowed itself deep into his bones. But when he did risk the sadness, he could play through his head how everything would have been just right.

_She didn't have to go back and save Rhea. Nothing more than a figurehead. Rhea did nothing in comparison to Teach... She could be here now, this war would be over, and she had no other home to go to... we could be in bed here together..._

Playing it over again only made it worse: he refused to fantasize about the missing. _Not dead. Only missing. If only I'm able to search..._

He reigned those morbid thoughts in, filling his reverie with someone more accessible and comforting to warm him: Lorenz. Frivolous, considering his resolution to stop antagonizing him; but maybe fantasizing about him alone could relieve some of the tension he felt around him. Their relationship had been easy, complicated only by rivalry... making it all the more tantalizing. A love/hate with benefits... before the war. He let his thoughts play out their dining room romance, only this time, uninterrupted.

_I had just pushed my tongue into his mouth... he was already begging, with his body, the way his hips pushed upwards in the very little space left between us. He's not just taller over head; he's grown _everywhere_. If only I could have tasted him through the wine that clung to his mouth._

Just playing it out in his head brought him back; he massaged himself through the coverings, imagining it was Lorenz he was touching; that it was Lorenz touching him. The satin sheets pulled against his body, reminding him of the bed in Gloucester Hall; where for a single night he had pressed himself against Lorenz to sleep, nestled in the smell of roses, lavender, and sweat. He let his mind wonder back to that bed...

_I could have woken him in the night... he would relent, pretending it was just a dream, grateful for the excuse. I would have held him, whispered that everything was going to be fine. Kissed his body, every inch, soothed his muscles, sore from riding, from escaping. Maybe I could have comforted him with my hands... taken him in my mouth..._

It was too much, even for a fantasy. Claude's steady stroking did not last after the thought of wrapping his mouth around a sleepy, throbbing Lorenz. 

He threw the covers off to let the night air cool his body.

Becoming closest with the man who despised him most was his greatest victory, and liability. Fantasizing about him only stoked the flames; he now regretted every move he _didn't_ make. He would be even more tempted to antagonize Lorenz into reciprocating. _When I'm not using him for political gain. _

He resolved to let a month pass, at least, and decide from there. He thought treating Lorenz with at least an ounce of due respect may go a long way. 

He was done with the fantasy, but as he drifted into sleep, his mind returned to a place where he was tucked into Lorenz's amaranthine hair.


	7. Wall of Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Sad :(

Lorenz's third morning in Derdriu dawned; the same melancholy hung over the empty estate. This time he open his eyes to find Lalia in the bed. Deeply shamed by her lax guard, she insisted on sleeping by his side for his own safety, until the guard and house keepers she called for were vetted and instated... and paid for.

It was embarrassing for an adult man to share a bed with someone such as Lalia, who was much like an older sister. Lorenz adored her the moment she joined their household as a maid not long after he turned five: convinced by some child-logic that his father had finally "procured" a sibling... despite her grassy hair and tan skin, he did not stop to consider they were not related until he reached 10. He discovered then that her last name was _not_ Gloucester, in fact, they did not have last names where she came from.

She spent many nights singing him to sleep, and many nights in the same bed keeping the "demonic beasts" away. Knowing she kept real dangers at bay made the empty Hall feel more like home. He brushed her short, curly hair out of her face, pulling the covers up around her shoulders. Any other servant he might wake, scolding them for sleeping past his own waking. Not Lalia.

_I should finish my letter to Hilda; I do not require her aid for that._ He wandered into the library, a little disappointed there was no tea, but not inclined to make it himself.

The pen scratching across the paper was a wonderful melody to welcome the sunrise. The words that were so difficult yesterday came to him with ease: creating a steady rhythm of pulls and crosses, dots and a symphony of short and long lines, accentuated by the occasional dip into the ink.

Just as he finished, the brass knocker from the front entrance echoed through the house; he was grateful it did not startle him while he held pen to paper._ It's too early for anyone, unless_\- he heard a thump from across the hall where Lalia slept. It sounded much to heavy, as though she had fallen out of bed.

"Lalia?" He stood.

"No matter... Master Lorenz... Lord..." He reached the doorway of the library just as she began to descend the stairs, a haphazard apron thrown over her sleeping attire. Sliding the bolt out place, she opened the door gracefully. "Welcome to Gloucester Hall. How may I be of service?"

"A letter to Lord Gloucester, from Lord Riegan."

"I will take it."

"I was told to hand it directly to him, beg your pardon, Miss Lalia."

"Of course, Miss...?"

"Alvina."

"Miss Alvina. Please wait a moment longer for Lord Lorenz." She bowed, shutting the door.

The hall clock chimed 8, as Lorenz rushed to make himself presentable. He hurried back down the stairs, loathe to make any stature of woman wait in the morning chill. Lalia pulled the door open in a motion that placed her between the waiting maid and Lorenz.

"Miss Alvina, it is a pleasure to meet you. You are delivering a letter from Claude?"

"Two letters, My Lord. The first is for business, and the second is personal." The first was tied with a green ribbon, sealed with the stamp of house Riegan; the second was tied with a yellow ribbon, it's wax sealed with a Golden Deer.

"Oh? I was only expecting the one. Please return the personal letter." Lorenz had no need for a headache so early.

"Lord Riegan insisted, My Lord."

"I must decline. Please assure him that it was no failure on your part, and that I will commend you personally next we meet." _He would not make it easy, but he cannot force me_-

"Lord Claude informed me you would say just such a thing. I regret to then inform you, My Lord, that my instructions are to nail the letter to the post board in the central square, should I be unable to place it into your hands personally."

"Of Course he would. I would not want to put you in an uncomfortable position." He tried to maintain a placid air, his teeth gritting beneath his composure. "Lalia, take the letter, burn it." Lorenz turned to retreat into the hall.

"I cannot, Lord Lorenz; her instructions are to expressly place the letter in your hands. I would be breaking Maid's Honor if I took it from her by force."

"Naturally. Forgive me, kind ladies, I sometimes forget we are all merely the plaything's of Claude's ego." Alvina lowered her head to stifle a smile, a small laugh catching in her throat. Lorenz thought it endearing, and the way Lalia straightened and smoothed her apron made it clear she found it _moreso_.

He took the letter gently, no need to disturb Miss Alvina, despite his foul mood.

"Did he at least say what the letter pertained to?" He would decide whether or not to read it depending on her answer.

She lifted her head and blushed. With wide eyes, she leaned in and whispered:

"He said it was a love letter, My Lord-"

"Lalia, stoke yesterday's embers into a new fire."

"-May your day improve much, I am genuinely sorry to have disturbed you." Alvina bowed deeply, and departed.

Lalia hurried to the sitting room ahead of Lorenz, her fatigue displaced by the excitement.

"You are humming, Lalia. Why- are you excited for this- this- piece of trash?" He held the letter up and shook it toward the fire. She looked at him; her lips were pursed, but her eyes were all smiles.

"I think it would be a laugh to read, do you not Lorenz?" She took a more familiar tone when they spoke personally, switching effortlessly from servant to friend. "You have the future Duke groveling over you. You should be using that to your advantage."

"I was raised with more self respect, more honor. I am a born and bred nobleman." He tossed the 'love letter' on a side table, and opened up the letter pertaining to Duke Gonereil.

_My Friend, My Dearest and Noble Lorenz,_

_I knew you would open the 'business' letter first, but surprise, herein is a confession of my unyielding, passionate, eternal-_

"Dammit! He switched them!" This time the corners of Lalia's mouth upturned, and she buried her face in her apron to laugh. A burgeoning headache beset him as he continued to read the letter; there was no avoiding it now. For all he knew he would need to decode the two letters like a childhood word game.

_-platonic partnership with you. And an apology._

_It is one of my very few faults to antagonize my friends and colleagues, but I'll admit that I have pushed you too far, and perhaps away. I realize now that It is likely I have done the same to others... but I have placed undue stress on you, my friend, at a troubling time, when you have undergone many hardships. It was selfish. I thought what I wanted was what you would want, what would help you persevere, but I didn't stop to consider anything beyond my own desires._

_You really are my friend Lorenz, as strained as that relationship has been over the few years I have known you. You have taught me much about how to behave (and surely I have taught you how to stop putting your foot in your mouth). Once again, I have learned by your tolerance of me, that maybe it is time to grow up. At least a little more. _

_I will no longer make advances on you, or treat you with disrespect, so please don't ignore me. Don't avoid me. You have my word._

_Your Golden Deer_

The letter was dry, and distant: unlike Claude. The last lines hit Lorenz in the chest. There was a feeling in the words he could not place, but it was certainly not confidence or gentility. Not a promise made from Lord to Lord. The victory he had hoped to feel on the day Claude apologized for existing was hollow. As his eyes meandered over the paper, he felt another sheet slip against the front page.

_Another...?_ When he separated the sheets, he found the next letter was much shorter.

_Lorenz,_

_If you have not received word about the broader Alliance, _ _House Ordelia is now clandestinely under Empire rule. There is no mention of Lysithea, but her parents are under house arrest. _

_Sorry I didn't to tell you in person._

_Claude_

Lorenz lowered the letter, and stared through it for a few moments, before folding it intently. His chest hurt as well as his head.

"Are you well, Lord Lorenz?"

"I am quite fine. It is not a love letter after all." He let his gaze drift across the room. 

"Do you want me to burn it all the same?"

"No, it's... It's about time he offered me some due respect" he stated flatly. He tucked the letter into his waistband, and took the other letter from the side table. There was no time to mourn. "Time for our first challenge."

Fortunately, this letter pertained entirely to Duke Gonereil.

* * *

Lorenz and Lalia returned to the Gonereil Estate with time free. They would call early, appropriate to make a show of respectful punctuality. Duke Gonereil was pleased to meet them at the doorway, the maids taking coats and major, unconcealed weapons.

"Pardon our arms, Duke. Considering the state of affairs, I would not consider leaving a Heroes Relic in an empty Hall. We have yet to procure staffing."

"Naturally, such an heirloom should not be neglected for something as petty as etiquette. I'm actually quite pleased to see Thyrsus up close." Lorenz beckoned the maid to bring the staff back to him.

"Please, look all you like. It's silhouette is not as striking as Friekugel; staves are rarely so menacing as an axe."

"Not as striking. Your privilege of wielding a divine weapon and joining in battle alongside many others shows in your dismissive tone. No, boy, it is deadly all the same. But have you ever laid eyes on Crusher of House Dominic? That bastard could break the world in half."

"I am afraid I have never had the pleasure." Duke Gonereil's unique mix of Noble and Common speech had always made Lorenz feel unbalanced. It ran counter to his own nature to speak in rude speech, but he felt as though the Lord considered him too uptight. Alas, any attempts to communicate in the... unique Gonereil style would be insincere.

Gonereil handed the staff back to his maid, and motioned for them to join him in the sitting room. Before the single lump of sugar melted into Lorenz's tea, Duke Gonereil began interrogating him.

"Tell me, what happened with your old man?"

"_When he asks about your House, or your father, be as indistinct as possible. He know's you aren't stupid, but let him fill in the information to gauge his tone and opinion about House Gloucester._" Claude's letter reminded him.

Lorenz hardly needed instruction for such a task, but he now aware was a subject Claude was interested in.

"So much has happened in the past months. I am afraid I will have to ask you to be more specific."

"Well, he's a traitor bastard! You're here, so I bet you have at least a little more spine than him. I knew when Hilda wrote about you to her brother last year you had to be less of a piss than he was."

_Blunt!_ It seemed in his own home, Duke Gonereil made no efforts at subtly, or polite speech. Even Lalia, situated on the opposite wall to watch Lorenz's back, looked surprised at the forward response. He searched the letter in his mind for direction.

"_If he is hinting he is against the Empire, don't jump into it; it might be a trap. Stay vague. Get him to spell it out._"

"I thank you for your compliments. My father was indeed pressured by the Empire-"

"Pressured. PRESSURED! Ha! He's been trying to turncoat since the march on Garreg Mach reached the Roundtable. He's scared of the new Riegan Heir; doesn't like some of the rumors that have been floating around. But enough about that, I know all about the _superlative_ Count Gloucester. Tell me about yourself, boy."

"_If he begins to question your alliances, turn it back on him._"

Lorenz was certain he knew where Duke Gonereil stood. None of the guidance in the letter was panning out to match the Duke's pattern of reasoning. He pulled no punches, jumping between subjects.

"Well, I desire what is best for the Alliance, and Fodlan at large. I admit, I am too young to know what that might be-"

"You ARE a diplomat - independence is what is always best! The fist of a dictator is like a boulder dropped on a volcano. As long as we are suppressed, everything is set to blow. Even if the Alliance comes under the rule of an Emperor, there will never be peace."

"_If all else fails, be vague and positive. Play on your youth to ask a lot of questions._"

"I see. Studying such dictatorship in books has ill prepared me to consider real life application. So I take it you prefer the Alliance remain separate?"

"Prefer? It is! The only territory being 'occupied' have been sellouts, looking to profit off of the Empire at large. I have been telling the Roundtable: the war is between the Kingdom and the Empire, but the Alliance is being sold. I doubt the few battles they are reporting even took place." He tapped his temple, gesturing to his cleverness. "_Our_ war has always been with Almyra."

"I have had so little time to consider political implications in Derdriu... I cannot speak for House Ordelia... however, being as I was, on the front lines in Gloucester..." Saying it aloud disoriented him; to someone who would not believe him, no less.

Lorenz suddenly felt cold.

The few battles in Gloucester were not the noble clashes between opposing factions of knights, like his days in the Academy. They began that way... but just before Count Gloucester surrendered, and some time after, there only remained one set of banners when battle joined: the Black Eagle. The common people who rejected Edelgard had no flags. Villages razed by the red wall that moved across the landscape. The masked demonic beasts and the faceless mages seemed to devour everything that they touched-

"Was there... was there something in the tea?" Lorenz mumbled. The room was hazy around the edges.

"Are you alright, boy?" Duke Gonereil seemed to be shouting from a long hallway.

"Lord Lorenz!" Lalia, too, was somewhere distant.

It was suddenly dark.

Then red.

Edelgard's dread ax, Aymr, lay across the back of his neck.


	8. Fields of Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

There was humming in the black. A song in another language, not unlike a lullaby. He thought he saw, in the dark distance, a familiar glow.

"Professor?!" The voice that called out sounded like his: removed and distant. It echoed through the dark.

"Lorenz! Hey!" Warm hands cupped his face, the smell of linen and strawberries washing over him. "Are you awake?"

"...Hilda...?"

"The only one!"

"... You are not in Derdriu."

"I am right here, open your eyes!"

He could not find his eyes. He could not feel much of his body. Her warmth gathered closer, as she ran soft fingers over his eyelashes.

"C'mon sleepyhead." Her singsong voice drove the chill from his skin. He managed to squint against the bright room.

Too bright. An unfamiliar ceiling. Patterns of rose, cream, and sage.

"Are you eating enough? Drinking plenty of water? Once I passed out because I was sooo nervous, I forgot to breath. But my father isn't _that_ intimidating, is he?"

"Not in the least.... I see now where you get your charm... was I poisoned?"

"Not. At. All. That's too bad though, now my father just thinks you have a 'poor constitution.' Poison he could excuse."

"Death may have been preferable to his low opinion. But to wake in such good graces was well worth the embarrassment." Hilda sighed sweetly.

"You never do rest." She stood to leave. "But now you really need to."

"Wait. Please." He voice pitched higher than his usual sophisticated tenor. "Where is Lalia?"

"Downstairs with the other maids."

"Call her for me. Please."

"Um, yeah, I was just going to tell her you were up." She stepped lightly to the door, and a shout both delicate and commanding rang through the house. Lalia was by his side in minutes. "I'll let you two talk."

Hilda clicked the door shut behind her. Lorenz bolted up in the bed.

"We are leaving right away. I am so utterly humiliated. I will not sit here another minute to further ingrain myself in their memories as an incontinent invalid." He stood too quickly, Lalia bracing him.

"First tell me what happened."

"I fainted, you were there. I hit my head on something."

"The table. But what happened before that. You asked if something was in the tea."

"Yes, well. I became quite dizzy. The room darkened." She tucked a strand of his hair back.

"I see. Anything else you can remember?" He did not wish to inflict the details of the thoughts that preceded this episode. She was there in Gloucester. It made little difference what was running through his head before his fit.

"No. That is all."

"I see. At least let me inquire about borrowing some horses. Wait here."

"Very well." It would wound him further, but they walked across the city for their visit and he did not believe he could make the trip back. _It would not do to be seen, dragged through the streets by his maid. Though I'm almost certain she could hoist me on her back. No, wait. There is still time. We need to go to the Central Bankhouse. What am I to do there though? I needed to speak with Judith first. How far is house Daphnel? Can I write her more quickly? It might be intercepted-_

"You know, you can stay here a bit longer Lorenz." Hilda returned while his thoughts frenzied.

"The days are shorter than ever and there is much to do. Although, I would while away weeks in your company. It is unfortunate I cannot spare even an hour."

"Yeeessss, but you didn't know I would drop in. Call it an unexpected delay. It just so happens that my untimely arrival is going to demand the rest of your day."

"How may I serve you, My Lady?" He stood a little straighter, ignoring the pounding behind his eyes.

"I had a long and verrry uncomfortable journey. I need a nap." She eased him back into the down bedspread. "You are doing a fine job of warming the pillows for me. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Just a few minutes, then."_ Everyone is always putting me in bed, it seems. The Bankhouse tomorrow, then._

Despite the fool he had made himself, and Hilda's insistence of keeping him at arm's length, he thought it may be nice to wake for once with someone he admired. Surely she did not mean to nap with him, but his mind romanticized the thought all the same. He wondered what it might be like to wake in the middle of the night, in Hilda's bed, to find his fingers incidentally laced with hers.

She did not return in a few minutes, but he was no longer conscious to notice: her deception a success. After butting heads with Hilda, Lalia struck a balance between his health and his orders, waking him after a brief hour to depart for Gloucester Hall.

* * *

"You're going to tell me everything that happened."

Lalia pressed him as their borrowed mounts wound their way to Gloucester Hall. Lorenz spurred his horse to to a gentle trot, gaining lead.

"I told you what little I remember. If you continue to ask, I may just fall from the horse with fatigue."

"Lorenz."

"_Lord_ Lorenz; this is no heart to heart. We are in public." They had reached a full trot when he braced the horse to turn left where they should turn right.

"Where are you going?" Lalia demanded; her horse was unfamiliar, and it took her some time to turn it from it's original path. "Lore- Lord Lorenz!"

"I'm going to the Central Bank."

"We're done for today!"

"You may return ahead of me!" The distance between them became greater as Lalia's horse resisted and began to back pedal.

"Easy! Shhh...." The horse huffed and jerked it's head.The golden hour crowds were beginning to fill the streets as Derdriu's citizens returned home.

By the time Lalia could calm the horse to dismount, Lorenz was gone. She walked this bastard horse toward the square, and the Bankhouse, at a crawling pace.

* * *

Lorenz was in front of the bank in fifteen minutes, the same at a walk may take thirty or more the way they had been looping around to Gloucester Hall along the back streets.

_I cannot _think_, I cannot _breath_ with Lalia, Claude, even dear Hilda fussing about me. I'll still need to contact Judith, but it is not abnormal for me to seek a record of assets. Perhaps people know I am in Derdriu, but how many should know that I escaped in the night? No one at the bank; I am merely here on business._

He tied the horse and made his way to the front entrance. The Bank was some hour from closing, which would make such a simple task expedited, with fewer questions and less banter.

It was spectacular, rivaling many palaces throughout Fodlan. It maintained it's own interior plaza, separate for the central square of the city, where fountains, topiaries, roses and marble statues sang the praises of wealth. It symbolized a burgeoning capital based class system that might one day replace pedigree; perhaps even crests. It was a symbol of the commoners ability to rise with work.

Lorenz had his concerns with a Central Bank that was tied to some degree to council politics. The bankers were like Kings and Queens in some rites, but there were many, and they were in competition. The bank was utilized by everyone, and their owners could only exist in extravagance with the trust of their clientele. He had long ago decided this was the best system in practice, for now: in many ways one's wealth constituted votes for or against the bank, and so the people controlled the _Bank's_ control of the Alliance. They could arrange an indifferent, bloodless revolt by draining the vaults... but wealthy nobles or merchants were never discontent enough to remove their assets. Not everyone could contribute in the first place: the commoners holding no sway over the institution. It was one of many puzzles that Lorenz lost sleep over when we was planning on becoming the Duke of the Alliance when Claude inevitably failed.

The expansive plaza crossed, Lorenz found his way to the largest most extravagant desk where he would find the Vaultier Superior: the man who managed all of the transactions at the bank.

"Good Afternoon. I must apologize for coming at such a late hour Vaultier Jericho. I merely wish to put in a request for a record of assets that are present in this institution for House Gloucester."

"Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. Of course." He was a prissy man, his nose turning up as he uttered the Gloucester name. Lorenz braced; this was going to go poorly. "Here to pull your father's wealth for him before the Empire burns down the city?" He did not expect such open hostility, but he would not tolerate it.

"I beg your pardon, Vaultier, I presume I misheard you. You sound as though you may have confused yourself for a Lord of the Roundtable, or perhaps a Judge. I know you grow senile, but recall that you are merely a Vaultier at a bank. Your duties do not entail my intentions." Lorenz thrust his hand over the desk, showing his signet ring.

Being so condescending was uncomfortable when not aimed at another Lord... but cowering from his accusations would make Lorenz a dissenter of the empire, and yet confirming them might be worse. Arrogance was a politically neutral stance. He could deflect anything by feigning offense, and belittling a man to humility.

"Very well, my Lord. But oh. I cannot help you here - this signet ring looks poorly, perhaps it's even fake. Never know what kind of deceptive magic that eagle bitch has invented." It was no minor sleight, to accuse a Lord of forgery of his own signet.

"Jericho. Is there an issue that needs resolving?" The attendant blanched.

"Just taking extra precaution, Lord Morley. This man could be-"

"This man is the Heir of Gloucester. Pleasure to meet with you again, Lord Lorenz. Will your father be joining you?"

"I am afraid not, the precarious situation in Gloucester keeps him rather busy. I have come to take an account of our assets." Lorenz knew little about Lord Morley beyond the influence his bank held over Derdriu. Caution was due. But it was also an opportunity.

"Precarious is right. It takes a humble Lord to agree to occupation to preserve mere commoners." By his nature, Lorenz prepared to refute Morley's dismissal of the value of a commoners life, already laying out in his head the ways in which they were both real people with families and aspirations, as well as part of an interdependent economic hierarchy- But he recalled Claude faulting him for being unable to lie on many occasions. Not reading the situation had landed Lorenz on horseback fleeing from his own home. He decided to take a more possessive tone about the commoners of Gloucester:

"There would be no one left to work the land had he had allowed the commoners to continue hurling themselves against the red wall." The glaring pain in his head spiked. "...I-In the end, it was a matter of economy. The land would be occupied with or without his permission; he may as well keep the soil turning. An the Empire has plenty of Gold." Speaking of people who had lost their live as though livestock made his stomach turn... but it was expected of him. It was the language of nobility, neutrality, and confidence. "But I did not come so far to discuss harvest yields per capita."

"Of course. Seeking a record of assets is due in such a situation; why you encountered any trouble at all falls on poor management." He gestured toward himself, but cut his eyes discreetly at the Vaultier Superior. "I must admit that like many, I am curious of his next move. But none here are Lords of the Roundtable, as you so neatly stated. I pride myself on professional detachment."

"Your deferral to etiquette belies your status. It is a a tragedy we cannot assume respect from those we employ." He meant it literally; Vaultiers and all bank staff were considered employees not only of Lord Morley, but of their clientele as part of their policy.

"Agreed. I will have a copy of your assets drawn up by tomorrow, noon. I only apologize it will take so long; if I recall, the record is extensive."

"No need to apologize, you have been accommodating beyond measure. But I see your Vaultiers are preparing for close, so I will not trouble you any further. Gracious thanks, Lord Morely."

"It is my pleasure." He motioned to walk Lorenz from the bank personally. "Please, Lord Lorenz, call on me if ever you need anything. The friendship between Houses Gloucester and Morley should be nurtured; war, wealth or politics be damned. We have much in common."

"I am sure, Lord Morely." _Friendship with House Gloucester under my fathers sullied name, or with me?_ Lorenz had no way to know.

He inclined his head once more, before crossing under the secondary archway. A stoic Lalia stood in the entry archway: though she remained professionally expressionless, Lorenz could feel her rage rolling across the room. His head did still ache, but it was right to come; the time was opportune, as Morley rarely visited the bank floor._ Claude would be proud of me, following an indistinct goal so doggedly against all sense._

He relished in imaging Claude's smug face for just a moment-

"Lord Lorenz. We must return to Gloucester Hall at once."

"I will cooperate this time, Lalia. I am in miserable pain. I do not think I can even take dinner; mint tea first." She took his hand from the saddle, pulling him in to whisper.

"My Lord, I have been informed that Claude has left Derdriu."


	9. Bridge Banter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

"Left? He is gone?"

"Yes."

"Where!?"

"No one seems to know. Let us return to the Hall to talk."

They mounted, steering for the clearest streets. Lorenz took up a canter when they were out of the busy square, the need to hear Lalia's intel pressing him. By the time they crossed the front gate, the sun was nearly gone. Lorenz waved his hand toward the gate lanterns.

"_Fuir_." After dismounting, Lalia went ahead, turning the corner of the house to stable their horses.

A polite voice rose from the darkened front entryway to the Hall.

"Pardon, Lord Lorenz."

"Glevo!" His right hand directed a white glow, Thyrsus already firmly in his left hand. The light from his palm illuminated the entire garden: including Maid Alvina as she shielded her eyes.

"Sorry, My Lord. I was told to wait for your return. I have another letter. It is not urgent, but important."

"You waited past dark?"

"My Lord, I fell asleep. I am very sorry." She was soft spoken, her every word made it sound as though she was near to crying. Lalia returned to the scene: shock, irritation, and anger played across her face in turn. She was too tired to conduct herself.

"Miss Alvina, please come in." Lalia helped her rise from the entryway.

When they reached the drawing room, Lalia stood behind Lorenz directly, clutching the sides of the wingback chair. She was brooding over her failure to notice an intruder in the dark. Mint tea had been served, and Miss Alvina warmed her fingers on her cup as Lorenz read over the letter.

"This is all?"

"That is all he gave me, My Lord. I am unaware of the contents."

"Please read it over. Perhaps I am missing something." He leaned forward from where he had mistakenly slumped down in the chair. The headache persisted.

"It says he will be gone for a week and a half. Signed Claude von Riegan- that is rather cold, is it not?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have seen many of his letters to you... some sent, some not. All signed 'Your Golden Deer.' That is the only oddity I can detect." She handed it back to Lorenz.

"That has nothing to do with the present situation. Lalia, do you care to further expand your intel?" It went unspoken that she might decline if Alvina was a liability.

"Yes, My Lord. A butler from House Riegan packed very light travel provisions for Lord Riegan in the night, and he left before daybreak on his Wyvern, without a retainer to accompany him." She turned on Alvina. "Do you know anything?"

"No, Ma'am. I was given the two letters in the evening before, and another Maid gave me this letter to deliver later in this afternoon, per Lord Claude's own instruction. I was still out in the market when she gave it to me, and I was out on business for most of the day, unaware he was gone. I have not yet returned home." She sounded disheartened. It was clear now how she managed to fall asleep in an entryway at dusk.

"Thank you Alvina. I-" Lalia leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"- I invite you to sleep here for the evening, in the Maid's Quarters. It is too dark and too far for you to travel back to the Riegan Estate tonight."

"It is gratefully accepted, My Lord." She yawned, mouth uncovered, Lalia bristling at her poor conduct.

"You may find sleeping arrangements up stairs, to the right of the secondary suite." Lalia instructed. Alvina stood, bowed crookedly, and made her way to the foyer. "My Lord, if there is nothing else you will require of me, I will prepare dinner."

"Yes. Do."

He slid down in his chair again, pouring over the scant lines.

_Lorenz Gloucester, _ _I will be departing for a week and a half. I apologize for failing to tell you. The date slipped my mind, and I had to leave quickly. Claude von Riegan._

_Using my full name. I suppose I can be a plaything or a stranger._

The chair was not as comfortable as Hilda Goneril's bed, but he fell asleep just as readily.

Hours later, the bumping woke him, springing from where Lalia had left him in the drawing room. He was on high alert for only a few moments, until he located the cries that accompanied them; the Maid's Quarters were lowlit and terribly busy for at 3 am.

_First she is malcontent for failing to stop various intruders, then she leaves the front door unlocked while I am slumped over in the drawing room._ He clicked the latches into place. _I need a second, more disciplined maid._ From what he could hear, Lalia trusted Alvina _deeply_, but her earlier conduct made it clear she was too unseasoned to hire away. He would ask about it tomorrow.

Unwilling to take to his room adjacent to Lalia's vociferous sleepover, he shambled into the Library. He was in a poor state, to be worried about Claude of all people. He would routinely count Claude's various shortcomings, real or imagined, to distract himself from his various feelings surrounding the Heir Apparent. But he did not maintain the energy to be resentful at this late hour, in this condition. The chaise by the window looked to be the best bed he could hope for. It was near the windows and would allot him a view of the stars while he gave in to despondency.

Memories of the Officers Academy carried him back into a fitful sleep.

* * *

_"You're playing a 'game' with Claude? You idiot!" The Hilda in his memory smacked him on the shoulder._

_"You have so little confidence in me? Claude is nothing but swagger, even his small victories have leaned heavily on the professor. Off of the battlefield and away from Byleth, he's tactless."_

_"No, you idiot, he's got you just by playing. Getting you to play the game is winning the game-"_

_"Those were not the terms- and how would you know, hm? Are you privy to some secret window into the enigmatic mind of The Golden Clod?" It always grated on him how familiar they were. Each noble heir and heiress had all met him, briefly, at the same time at the same welcome soiree preceding their enrollment. Why he and Hilda were so close was a mystery._

_"Um, actually, we write each other letters. So yeah, I know him enough to know you're doomed. Uggggh. It's gonna be like watching a cat play with a mouse before he kills it."_

_"Hilda, such gruesome things should not grace your delicate lips." _She writes to him? None of my own peers have written to me.

_"Yes, I am delicate. I hurt my wrist the other day helping carry food in the dining hall- can you sharpen my ax for me?" _

_"Why, of course. While I do, I can tell you about my plan to outdo-"_

_"Oh... sorry. I promised Seteth I would do... a thing. Thank you! You should treat me to tea sometime!" She was gone. He set out to dutifully find someone of a lower status that would sharpen her blade. _

_On his way, It occurred to Lorenz that she may be half right. In thinking he could win, he realized: they never agreed to a win condition for himself...Only for Claude to win. But he also realized: _If I ask for a win condition, I lose. He said if playing the game makes me do something I would not normally do, that was it. I would not ask him to win conditions if there was no game.

_He refused to accept that he was trapped. He had been sidestepping obvious ploys for a week: a bucket of water over a door, a saddle turned backwards on his horse before riding practice, even an unsigned love letter that beckoned him to the rose garden at midnight two days from now (the thought that he might leave a noble young maiden waiting would haunt him until his dying day). But he could take no chances._

_Indeed, the entire outline of the game gave Claude license to harass him. It caused him to stick more rigidly to his schedule, his habits, and avoid the quirks of daily life. If he admitted it, Claude had won several times over by forcing him to walk a narrower line. He had no way out, but it would come to him. He set on a warpath to find Claude._

_After an hour stomping around the Monastery, there he was, standing. Smugly. Taking in the scenery over the bridge leading into the Cathedral. _

_He had been carrying around the faux love letter as a badge of guilt for possibly breaking an innocent Lady's heart. He had no idea if it was real or not, so he might get away with any action he took regarding it. Under normal circumstances, he would ask around about a love letter. It was ordinary._

_"Claude, I have something personal to ask you."_

_"Ah, Lorenz. I'm surprised you're still talking to me."_

_"Please, I am out-stepping you, that does not mean I am avoiding you. Look at this." He held the letter out. Claude barely eyed it._

_"A love letter?"_

_"Yes, and so I am doing something very genuine to my character: I am demanding you reveal whether this is part of your game! Actions that may cause unintended hardship for others outside of our agreement is bad sportsmanship, and if this were the arena of war or politics, such an oversight could have dire consequences. As it is, I cannot bear the thought of breaking a Maiden's heart; a woman who, if I meet her, I may marry someday. Your childishness may be throwing off the course of history!"_

_"Whoa, slow down! Wow. I got to admit, that is very genuine of you. So I'm calling the game off for _five_ minutes-"_

_"Five minutes? Excellent. What is my win condition?"_

_"What?"_

_"You never told me what I had to do to win the game myself." _

_"So you finally caught on. You're so confidant you could beat me that you didn't ask for real rules, a win condition, a contract- anything. I literally made up a game where if you tried to play, or even acknowledged I was playing, you lost. And you just agreed to it- blah blah blah, I'm **Lorenz Hell Man Gloucester**\- etcetera. The real game was seeing how long it took you to catch on-_ _"_

_"So I have won, because you are a liar and a cheat-"_

_"Well, no. It's your_ fault for not considering I'm a liar. _I still tricked you; and trust me, you did dozens of things this past week to avoid me._ _I was just having too much fun to point it out. Just for the sake of keeping the fun going, let me give you a win condition: you have to surprise me."_

_"... That certainly seems straightforward. How will I know you're surprised?"_

_"The typical way: eyebrows raised, eyes widened, elevated heartbeat, maybe I flinch. You can literally jump out of a cupboard and scare me and you'll win- No, wait, on second thought, I might stab you by accident if you jump out of something. Maybe be more subtle. This game lasts indefinitely. I don't get a win condition, I can only lose. But how long will it take you?"_

What can I do immediately to end this? I could reject the game, but that is the same as forfeiting, losing: he'll still be the winner in his head, and I cannot abide to lose twice in a row._ He looked around the bridge, there was nothing that could shock him short of pretending to throw him off, and it was too risky. _What can I do to be rid of-

_He looked down at the love letter. There was nothing more shocking in the world he could think of, and he wanted it to be done and over. There was no one else present; sunset, dinnertime. No one would ever believe him. _

_"Well, I have no intention of playing long enough for you to enjoy it-"_

_Eyes open, he pulled Claude toward him by his coat. An expert of masked expressions, Claude only smirked- up until the very moment Lorenz pushed his lips against him. For good measure, he placed his hand around his neck where he could feel Claude's pulse._

_Their new arrangement was over in an instant: he could feel his heartbeat on both in his chest and neck. He stared into Claude as his eyes widened, pupils dilated, before they both closed their eyes instinctively. He shoved him away after he was sure. _

_"It is only proper to thank you for making the game so easy to win." Lorenz pushed past him to head as quickly as he could anywhere else. Delayed by the abrupt kiss, a deep blush only now spread to Lorenz's face. "Do not speak to me ever again-" _

_"The Love Letter was mine." Claude blurted out. His expression was still wide eyed when Lorenz turned to face him._

_"Oh?" He had almost forgotten he was genuinely curious about its authenticity. Pulling such a stunt, he had nearly forgotten his full name. He continued the banter reflexively, his mind having been overtaxed. "Did Hilda help you write it? She has a knack for such girly things, and the handwriting is exceptional."_

_"No, she didn't."_

_"It was very expertly written. Copied from a book?"_

_"No."_

_"Well." Lorenz chose not to consider it further. He forgot he was holding it until folding it up and placing it carefully in his pocket. He made his way to dinner without comment._

_It was only their second month in enrollment. There were several months yet to suffer Claude's harassment._

* * *

Lorenz was shaken awake by a very bright and cheerful Lalia, a glowing Alvina in tow. Lorenz felt like death, and would gladly languish on the chaise until he died of misery. But there was tea and breakfast both waiting.

He allowed himself a few minutes to wake, before scolding the maids.

"You left the door unlocked, your revelries are too loud and your priorities misplaced." Lalia simply nodded in agreement, barely concealing a smile. Lorenz had not the wherewithal to care. "Any news on Claude?"

"No sir." Alvina answered.

"Well, I promised I would not make any further moves without him. I suppose we wait for The Golden Deer."


	10. Garland Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

Days passed laboriously. Everyone else in Derdriu had places to be, jobs to fulfill. Lorenz had written Judith, only to find she was deployed to the borders around Ordelia to monitor the situation. There was little else he could do... no, little else he was allowed to do, per his agreement with Claude. Even returning to the Central Bankhouse was risky, considering the animosity of the Vaultier Superior... if he was still employed.

When he and Lalia did venture out, they were able to retrieve the record without incident. The Vaultier Superior was still instated, but chose to relegate Lorenz's affairs to a Vaultier Minor. The record was a heavy package of papers, more than he had expected.

He had plenty of time to pour over them, and to think.

He spent considerable time drawing his own plans for conference when Claude did decide to return. Lord Morley was considerably neutral, very powerful, but he knew too little about him. Lorenz counted Vaultier Jericho as a possible ally: though he would not be of much use openly opposing the Empire to any Lord who passed through the bank doors. If they could win his allegiance, he could access the Gloucester wealth freely... at a risk to the Vaultier himself.

And it was considerable: enough so that he concluded he skimming large amounts (small in comparison to the sum total) would arouse no suspicion from Gloucester, but at this point any withdrawal would draw suspicion from the bank. He had no need of it at the moment, but would arrange to withdraw cash bonds soon, else his chance may slip away. The actual gold in the vault that the bonds represented were of lesser value than the various deeds and contracts; ownership of which would give him collateral to wield power in the Roundtable and the Alliance in general. They were signed by his father, but the laws were so written that the heir of a house could assume the role of promiser under their parentage without the approval of the promisee. He had no legal way currently to assume that power, as he was aware...

...Unless his father died. That was unlikely, given his tendency to sacrifice others in the name of self preservation. Lorenz decided not to dwell on his father's character.

He also found himself speculating over the letter Claude had sent by Alvina the morning he left. His memories of winning the foolish game they played at the monastery was irritating him. He had called the personal letter sent by Alvina a "love letter" but there was nothing of the sort involved in it's contents. The love letter that he forged for their game at Garreg Mach was fake... after a fashion.

_I would not put it past Claude to insinuate his letter promising to treat me with more dignity is a fake itself._ But that seemed to tacky, even for him.

Lalia interrupted him as he pulled the letter from the desk to look over it once more; she beckoned him come to the foyer to greet the new staff. Lorenz descended the stairs to find new two servants, and four guards. He welcomed them to Gloucester Hall, before drawing Lalia away.

"Lalia, how did you pay for their hire?" They had left the bank vault untouched.

"I have many friends. Please do not concern yourself with the source further, Lord Lorenz. Nothing has been deducted from the Gloucester Vault. It would not do well to press such a matter."

"I cannot abide unpaid employ. And why is Alvina still here?"

"They are being compensated. Miss Alvina is... on a brief leave from House Riegan."

"I will trust you on your honor concerning the pay." _I trust I should not press her about Alvina either._ "Have you had any more luck gathering information?" She nodded, drawing him back into the library.

"I just received word. Only small details, however."

"Anything will do."

"Lord Riegan requested commoner clothing from one of the maids, linen farm clothes were provided, including a hat. He opted to use plainer equipment when tacking up his wyvern, instead of the fine tacking that usually accompanies a Lord. Likewise, he took baser weapons with him. He did take a fair amount of money; not enough for a bribe, but too much for supplies. Plenty to hire cheap labor for a day."

"He is trying to disguise himself, but still flying a wyvern."

"It is likely he needed to leave and return quickly, making the wyvern a necessity."

"And the money: you suspect it is for labor? Why?"

"What else might a Lord who has everything need? Unless he is buying information, but the amount seems too low. More importantly, this has happened on five other occasions in the past two years."

"That is... disconcerting. It rules out my suspicion that he left to search personally for Lysithea... he also mentioned in his letter it was planned ahead. And_ none_ in the house knows where he is going?"

"Not at all; the servants say even the Duke is unaware. He makes provision by telling other Lords that Claude is away on business to avoid embarrassment. It raises suspicion all the same."

"Even the Duke cannot stop him, or find him... that does sound like Claude." Lorenz looked over the letter he had removed from the desk, distracted. "Thank you Lalia, you may go."

He did not have the love letter from what seemed like decades ago- in his flight he carelessly left it at the Gloucester Estate, though hidden quite well. He did, however, have it more or less memorized. He could draw no connection between the two; perhaps he was overthinking, and there was nothing to see, or maybe once again Claude had pitched some hint far over his head.

_Remember, a scheme does not have to be complex for it to work._

"The date. What was the date." He asked aloud. He pulled an old journal from the desk, dusty and unused, which had the years calendar for 1180 printed inside the cover.

_It was two months after we arrived. The Garland Moon. This same month. But the day- I do not remember the day._ Staring at the calendar did nothing to refresh his memory. _Is the date at all significant, I wonder?_

It seemed he had no choice but to continue scouring the memory for meaning. _What happened after the bridge?_

* * *

_After a meal in the dining hall he could not taste, with banter that he could not recall, Lorenz returned to his room on the second floor. He became increasingly ashamed about his action- the fake kiss- and began thinking of ways to convince Claude that it never happened. He was so fond of poison; maybe he could slip him one of his own concoctions, one that would make him believe he was hallucinating for the past 24 hours._

_"Am I really willing to poison someone over a stupid game?" Lorenz asked the empty room. He flinched as laughter came through his door, two students passing by in the hallway._

_The next two days proceeded in this manner, Lorenz walking through a haze and completing tasks perfunctorily. Some asked him if he was ill (he was boasting far less than usual), which he denied with drama and flamboyance. He was passing a Friday night in his room alone when the clock ticked over to eleven. The bell outside rang incessant, banging until it reminded him: tonight was the night mentioned in the fake letter. He had, not for any particular reason, waited for the next door- Claude's door- to open and close again signifying his return from the evening's activities. It never did._

_He donned again his academy uniform, having dressed down for sleep as early as 8 pm. He reread the letter obsessively, hope in his heart that Claude was merely lying: that such a rapturous love letter was from some lovely young lady, and Claude merely meant to sabotage Lorenz's life. _He did warn me that I failed to assume he was a liar.

_"Both yet strong and graceful, your hair a field of violets in the wind" he whispered the lines under his breath. The language was overly floral, but he did have such a soft spot for both flowers and extravagance. The tone shifted oddly toward the end, he noted: the writer seemed to give way from poetic visions to declarations of passion. "I would bear your hardships as my own. You captivate me, your compassion so rarely matched in sincerity" he breathed the lines so faintly, he could not hear them over his heartbeat._

_He reread the letter until it was late enough to leave._

_Some students were much younger, falling under curfew, but he was not bound by such rules: to leave his room so late carried no consequence. Yet he walked carefully, as if being overheard would see him returned to his room with a scolding. Indeed, it might: by embarrassment, he would return on his own and berate himself for yielding to such fantasy._

_Most had finished their revelries for the evening, already taking to rooms to finish the evening in bed. The night guard was as indifferent as ever, seeming as though nothing short of a full assault on Garreg Mach would rouse them; Lorenz was grateful for their stoicism._

_Approaching the garden was blind; tall privets lined the stone wall on the inside, with the iron gate offering the only glimpse beyond. He could see nothing, no one as he entered the gate. It latched to a close on its own with a loud _Clang!_ announcing his presence._

_There was no one._

_The garden was beautiful though. Garreg Mach grew only white and soft pink roses; breathtaking by day, cultivated for a hundred years at least. But in the moonlight they became otherworldly, as though they were fairy lights, floating through the dark all around. The vines that twisted around the gazebo were likewise a gentle green, pale enough to be indistinguishable from the whitewash gazebo. It had the effect that the gazebo seemed as though it were grown from their roots, or that the vines were impossibly intricate woodwork._

_The empty garden drew him more eagerly than any promise of confession could on its own. He wandered down the path, conscious of the silence filled only by his footsteps. He stood still to reclaim the quiet... he could hear his own breathing._

_No, not just his own._

_He walked further into the garden to find Claude, waiting on a bench. He had been so distracted by the beauty, Lorenz failed to notice him on the gazebo's other side. He was cupping a flower in his hand, and was looking toward the half of the sky opposite the moon. When Lorenz stepped around the gazebos view, he turned to him; unsurprised. A nervous smile split his face._

_"Meeting someone?"_

_"No, I... was just passing."_

_"That's a shame." He stood to leave hastily, tossing the flower on the bench._

_"Wait, Claude. Why are you here?" _ _He stopped, his back still to Lorenz. He was leaving by the wrong gate._

_"I had this crazy idea, and I came out here to see if it panned out. No such luck." He turned, redoubling his effort to smile genuinely to no avail. Lorenz was confused, at once curious about this idea, but also baffled that any woman might stand up the man who would spearhead The Leicester Alliance. "The garden is beautiful, you should enjoy it; I won't bother you." Lorenz was strangely seized by sympathy. Dejection did not suite The Golden Deer. Nor did the moonlight. It washed out all the warmth about him._

_"An idea, you said? Perhaps you can share it with me. I could not sleep, and the garden is far too quiet alone." Disquiet crossed his face._

_"Yeah, I guess."_

_Lorenz met him at the bench. After he seated himself, Claude took the liberty to sit far too close, brushing shoulders. He remained silent, twirling the flower between hands across his lap. He remained silent; Lorenz did not press. He returned his eyes to the moon, waiting for Claude to tell him about this 'idea'._

_Minutes passed this way. Lorenz became uncomfortably aware of Claude's breathing; unlike his own shallow and soft breaths, even at a stand still Claude inhaled in deeply with each breath, slow and calm._

_"Did you know there aren't any red roses in the monastery? Isn't that odd?" Confused, Lorenz responded slowly._

_"...Yes, the gardens were the first place I visited on arrival. Garreg Mach only grows white and pink roses, and the greenhouse is reserved for more exotic affairs. It is a tragic oversight."_

_"Yeah. But I guess it makes them more special, right?"_

_"I would say so. They are cultivated throughout Gloucester, and so everyone gifts them, wears them. Here, the only red rose I have seen is the silk one on my lapel." He tapped his chest, but he had left it on his nightstand. "The white and pink roses do not have as pleasant a fragrance. Too frail."_

_He closed his eyes and breathed deep, conjuring the scent in his memory. Claude slid his hand over Lorenz's, where they lay folded in his lap: Lorenz, startled, looked down just as Claude pressed the flower he was holding in to his palm. He had not even noticed it was a rose in the low light, as the moon muted and blackened its deep reds. Or maybe it was because he was not looking at the flower when he looked to Claude._

_He had fortunately neglected his gloves as well. The velvet rose was soothing under his fingertips as he glided his thumbs across them, too nervous to look away from the red-black petals. It was no Gloucester rose, but it was all the more beautiful for being so far from home._

_"Where did you find such an exquisite flower?"_

_"Rhea has a private garden. I scaled the wall."_

_"How suitably dramatic."_

_"There's one flower that I couldn't find anywhere though." Lorenz chanced a sideways glance at him. _What greater achievement could one hope for than a deep scarlet rose, stolen from a secret garden of a divine appointee?_ He turned his head away._

_"Aha. Not satisfied with anything, are you?"_

_"Never. I was looking for violets- " He slipped his hand into Lorenz's hair just above his ear, drawing him to look him in the eyes. " -and the kiss on the bridge wasn't deep enough."_

_Lorenz found himself closing the gap between them (to his personal disappointment) reaching around Claude to pull him in closer. He chastised himself internally: it was unfitting of a Lord to fraternize so haphazardly, inappropriate, base, crude, common. All the same, soft moans of approval and pleasure rose in his throat when he eagerly parted his lips. He tasted of coffee._

_Claude startled him by sliding a hand around his hip, running underneath his untucked shirt to caress skin not so used to touch. His arm reached further into his shirt, pulling eager fingers down his bare spine, then plunging below his belt line._

_"Ah!" Lorenz pushed him away. "I- I cannot- not-"_

_"Why not?" Claude asked breathlessly._

_"Too loud!" he began speaking more softly, yet raising his voice to its highest whisper in sheer distress. He looked down into his lap, pants risen. "No!"_

_"Y e s." Claude smirked, then unbuttoned his own shirt Lorenz began to retreat, falling off of the bench._

_"Put. Your. Shirt. Back. On. You! Animal!" He had unbuttoned his own uniform jacket in the heat of the Garland Moon, and perhaps sent the wrong message. Lorenz noted that Claude had already half unbuttoned his shirt without his notice, a breeze cascading across his chest._

_"This is not what I intended!"_

_"But it's what you want." Claude stood above him, knowing he was right and leaning on his hope that Lorenz was weak willed and desperate in such matters._

_"You have misread me!" Lorenz rebuked._

_"Fine." Claude loomed over him, saying nothing, only staring into Lorenz._

_He stood from cowering on the ground, seeking shelter in the gazebo, just in case anyone might happen by and see him. The boards creaked as Claude followed behind him, wordless._

_"Leave me!" He hissed._

_"To pout alone?" He smirked, sliding his shirt on. Lorenz was cornered in many ways. _

_"I cannot do such repulsive things! This is ridiculous- and improper- we are in public- you- YOU- are the heir to House Riegan, I am-"_

_"Lorenz. Hellman. Gloucester." He said his name deeply, rumbling from his throat to lavish the words with desire. It made Lorenz's fingers tremble, but he managed to button his shirt all the same._

_"Why me? In your position, you should be looking for a wife-"_

_"Do you have to think about it like that? Why not you."_

_"I am so very- I know very well people find me insufferable. They make no move to conceal their disdain." Lorenz crossed his arms, and leaned into the wall of the gazebo, his eyes locking onto the bench. Claude thought his lip might be trembling, but the moonlight did not reach his face. "This is a joke."_

_"Have I ever said such a thing?" He drew closer, his arms spread in a gesture of inoffense._

_"No, but only because you may have to deal with me in the future, politically. You have at least that much sense."_

_"I love it when you talk about the future. _ _Turn around. Look at me." He was again too close, heat rolling off of him. Lorenz turned as Claude pressed him against the gazebo post. The back of his knees hit the bench, buckling, he dropped down onto it. Claude planted on foot on the bench, trapping him._

_"I like you Lorenz, even if no one else does. I see through that arrogance, and I meant what I wrote."_

_"...This is a dream."_

_"I know I'm dreamy, but-"_

_"No. This must be a dream. I cannot fathom any other way for this to be happening."_

_"Oh? A dream... huh. So what're you gonna do next?" He teased, almost ready to let him off the hook; he felt that this... game, whatever it was, was becoming cruel._

_Lorenz looked up at him from his belt line. The moonlight pooled in his lavender eyes under worried eyebrows. He placed a hand carefully on the leg Claude had planted next to his face, considering the lines of the fake love letter._

_"You truly find me captivating?" Claude noticed streaks of silver in his eyes that he had never seen in the daylight._

_"You have no idea." He slid his hand under Lorenz's chin, but he pulled away from it to press his lips against Claude's thigh. He inhaled sharply, startled by Lorenz's abrupt change in willingness, but ready to seize on it._

_Or so he thought._

_Lorenz let his lips glide up Claude's leg, raising his shirt to press his mouth against his stomach, wrapping an arm under his leg to pull him forward by the waist._

_"W-" Claude stumbled against him, bracing on his shoulders. He remained stunned as Lorenz deftly unknotted the tie of his pants, running his fingers along the waist seam slowly coax them lower. "Wait." He managed to say._

_"Why?" Lorenz was not looking at him, but steady planting kisses lower and lower and lower on his abdomen, intoxicated._

_"Too fast." He pushed him back, Lorenz's confused gaze searching his face. He made a noise of irritation before forcing Claude fully onto his lap._

_"It may never happen again, you understand."_

_"I'm sure it will. But for now, I just want to stick my tongue down your throat."_

_"It sounds grotesquely unpleasant when you word it so crudely." He complained, but did not resist. Claude slid his hand around the clipped undercut of Lorenz's hair, manipulating his head to match the tilt of his own, so he could press farther into his mouth. It was inelegant, hungry, forceful. Teeth even. Actually, quite bad._

_And Claude was a liar. Not long after they had removed their shirts again for relief in the summer humidity, he was no longer content for only kissing. He maneuvered his hand into the front of Lorenz's pants; this he did not resist either, instead pushing back and raising his hips to accommodate his own pleasure._

_"Unnnh..."_

_"Lorenz..."_

_"Mmmmhhh...!" Too quickly, Lorenz began to throb and squirm, his back stretching in pleasure. "Ah! Claude!"_

_"Is that all it takes? Saying your name...? Say my name, again-"_

_"YOU TWO! WHAT THE HELL do you think you're doing!?"_

_They froze. Lorenz snapped out of his stupor and began to panic; he covered his face as though his hair color and slender, pale physique was not unique to the monastery._

_"Good evening, Catherine. We're uh. Having a talk." He began tucking sensitive parts back into concealed places._

_"You shit- put your damned clothes back on." She stood just outside the gazebo entrance, hands on her hips, fuming._

_"Yes Ma'am." Claude helped Lorenz button up first, incapacitated as he was with his hands pressed over his face like it was a bad dream. Claude was not so sensitive, standing to search the bench for his shirt. After buttoning up and holding his jacket politely over his pants, he pulled Lorenz over to face Catherine._

_"The guards came to me, telling me someone was fucking around in the garden; I expected to find servants, or some dumb kids. This is a first; no one else has been stupid or selfish enough to fuck around in the garden, or anywhere so public for that matter. There are children here; and you two are adults, with rooms." She pinched her nose in frustration "Of course, it would be two noble brats; you of all people should have more class."_

_"Are we adults, or are we brats?" Claude chimed, unfazed._

_"Both, asshole! You're filthy. Go back to your separate dormitories- NOW."_

_"Are you gonna tell Rhea?"_

_"That's _Lady_ Rhea; and for that sleight, I should. But she has too much on her plate to worry about some horny teenagers making a mess of a public garden- disgusting-"_

_"-Lorenz just turned twenty, he's not a teenager-"_

_"-Shut the hell up, Claude! I'll deal with you two tomorrow. Scram!"  
_

* * *

When he remembered Catherine finding them on her rounds, his stomach curdled, and he recoiled sharply from the memory. But something struck him: _Claude told her I had just turned twenty. _

It was a Friday, the 13th, his own birthday. He had nearly forgotten, but now he remembered that only the Professor had sent him flowers. He could see the lilies sitting on his desk very clearly in his mind. Only 5 days from now.

_Does it mean he is returning on this date? Does it mean... it can't mean he is going to the garden. The garden will be gone._

"_No, the garden will have simply overgrown._" He heard this last line in Claude's voice, though it is not something he had ever said.

_Certainly__ there is no way Claude could expect me to meet him there; leaving quickly, on a wyvern, with a mysterious letter. The journey on a horse would take double, or more. No, he could not be there; it is too pointless, bizarre. Not part of a well-laid plan._ It brought him some small comfort, however: in the back of his mind, it felt like a promise to return in time for celebratory tea. It was such a protracted, wholly speculative conclusion, but it allowed Lorenz to breath a little easier.

Even pouring over the shameful reprimand and counting dates, he remained uncomfortably aroused, despite his renewed efforts to despise Claude with his every breath. Lorenz had reserved myriad fantasies for marriageable noble women, but Claude replaced them with ease. The thought of naked arms and bare shoulders, sweat and heat, parted lips and parted legs became shades of soft, summer sun brown, umber and emerald green if he did not curb his imagination. But he more worried for Claude. He wanted for him; to come back, and to tease him, admitting he simply took a walkabout in another town to escape. He pressed a cushion over his lap, turning open a book about the economic downturn of the early tenth century. It did just the trick; but as soon as he closed the dry tome, Claude breezed back into his mind like a cool wind through a haze.

Lorenz needed a greater distraction.

Now with a full staff, he could at least invite Hilda and her father to a luncheon, to apologize for the incident in their home and hopefully recast himself in Duke Goneril's mind.


	11. Gentleman's Conduct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

When Lorenz called on Lady Hilda and Duke Goneril, they declined for the day, but arranged to visit on the 13th: the same day he suspected Claude would return, and incidentally the day he would turn 23. That left four days for him to keep busy, and so he decided to tackle the task he had been ignoring pointedly, for cowardice.

It so happened that the sons of two families who resided in Derdriu fell while they were in service to the common people. After Count Gloucester ceded the territory, many of the Gloucester soldiers defected to rebel with the devout and independent villages. Some week before he left, one of the last centers of rebellion was quashed: Lords Edwin Yarborough and Marco Benettos were felled for their convictions and their faith.

He had already met with the only surviving Uncle of another felled Knight, one Lady Sonata, on his very first morning in Derdriu. He passed it off to Claude as "meeting with a trustworthy Lord to inform him of the situation in Gloucester" to remain vague. In truth, the man learned of Lorenz's arrival early, and rushed to seek any information on his missing niece. Lorenz supposed his father may still maintain enough decorum to inform the families, but he would not leave Gloucester to do so, and Lorenz felt that a letter would mean so little. Regardless of the issues that may arise, it was a duty he could not ignore, or manipulate for Claude's designs.

The Yarborough family welcomed him kindly. They were indeed informed by letter of their son's death, but were glad to receive personal condolences. Lorenz tried to maintain an air of neutrality when speaking of him, as though he were personally not for or against his allegiances; instead he emphasized that Edwin had been acting in the interests of the common, which made a hero of him regardless of politics. He might count them as sympathetic to an independent Leicester Alliance now that their son had been martyred.

"That was risky" Lalia sighed in relief when they departed; she was sure something would go amiss and Lorenz would compromise their alignments. "Please Lorenz, I know too little about the Bennettos. Let us return home and see about them another day."

"If the Yarborough House received word, so too would the Benettos. It would be a sleight now for me to abandon their condolences when I have already offered my regards to the Yarboroughs. Both of their sons were of equal valor, and I'll not neglect one-"

Lalia seized him, grave in demeanor, as only she had done once before in his life:

"This is the wrong course. We must turn back. Now."

"...I see you feel rather strongly about this. We will return today, but I cannot abandon this task for long. I will require you provide an alternative, and soon."

"Yes, My Lord. But I feel you should also consult with Claude on the matter when he returns."

_If he returns_ Lorenz worried.

He would abandon the Benettos Household for now and return to the hall at once. He must now only wait for his tea time with Hilda to arrive

* * *

"Lady Hilda, welcome to Gloucester Hall. I do not believe I have ever had the pleasure of hosting you." It had taken some time for her to meet with him, but she arrived at 1 o'clock sharp, only one hour late. The delay was no matter: he was quite glad to have such lovely company on his birthday, a small and childish comfort considering the state of his life.

"I'm sure my father has been here several times to meet with your father, but I don't think I _have_ ever been here. It's very nice."

"Thank you, Lalia has worked very hard to bring it back in order after it has been vacant for such a long period. Speaking of your father, will he not be joining us?" Hilda arrived only with a maid and a butler.

"I managed to make sure he was tied up with other matters. We can't talk with him shouting about the war, and Fodlan's Locket, whatever else displeases him. I love him, but being cramped in the Goneril Estate here has been awful!" She folded her overcoat neatly, handing it to one of the new servants. Lorenz noticed that her dress had an especially low cut keyhole, and directed his eyes politely elsewhere, to admire it's finer details. Piped princess seams, petite lace edges peeking from under french hems, whites and pinks with red filigree. He so appreciated her sense of style, but more so the cutout on the corset back that revealed the soft curves of her muscular shoulder blades.

"I suppose he might impede our enjoyment." He placed a gloved hand on her elbow to direct her into the drawing room. "Please, sit where you will be comfortable."

"You can relax Lorenz, I'm not here to play political games or tease anything from you. We're on the same side after all- Team Claude." She waved her hands in the air playfully, but not without sarcasm. "I'm here because I know you have the best tea... and maybe-"

"Cookies? Of course; you will want for nothing." He slid a ceramic cake plate across the tea table. Lalia had prepared the cinnamon swirl cookies that she so loved, sugar cookies with pink icing, with all manner of fruit arranged in a display.

"Ugh, these are the BEST! You have no idea, everyone I talk to is so serious these days." She clapped her hands just before her lips in excitement, then took a cinnamon cookie for each hand, nibbling on one politely. "Everyone's a gentleman until you don't agree with them... or won't do them nasty favors. But you- you're just so nice."

"It is only befitting of a _true_ gentlemen to indulge beautiful women regardless of ongoing business matters; in fact it is a pleasure. I want nothing more than to provide you cookies and speak of nonsense. I assure you, I am most conniving when stubborn Lords are involved: niceties only extend to those who are pleasant. Likewise, your company is a veritable oasis in these trying times." He took her advice, and after pouring them each a cup of chamomile rose tea relaxed into the couch as much as his dignity would allow. She had taken the wing back chair with a view of the garden for herself, fortunately for Lorenz: the soft afternoon sunlight made her beauty surreal, as if painted by the Goddess into life.

"See?! You're such a sweet person, you make it seem so easy to be kind. I can't tell you how many men have tried to both bribe and threaten me with marriage proposals. If I'm able to stay in Derdriu, I'll have to visit more often. Goddess knows you're the only person who isn't on and on about Fodlan and the war and the Alliance all the time. Like, I care, but a girl has to rest, you know?" She had gracefully finished the two cookies, gently licking her finger tips one by one, before dabbing them on a silk handkerchief.

_Marriage proposals?_ Lorenz's stomach wrenched. He wanted names and details, but surely it would make Hilda uncomfortable. _And I'm sure she's dealt with them personally. Or Duke Goneril has himself. All the same, I hope their names do come up in the future. _He recounted the Wyvern Claude was training for Hilda, and it unsettled him once more. Were he a more despicable man, he might ruin the surprise, and use it as a precursor to pry into her feelings. But Lorenz Hellman Gloucester was not so petty.

"Will you not stay in Derdriu? I daresay you could accomplish much more here than your father would."

"Oh, there you go with the politics."

"My apologies. Do you think you will be able to reside here for a longer period, for _my_ pleasure?" He teased.

"Hmm. Probably not!" She leaned back in the chair with her tea cup for a moment. Lorenz wondered what could be pressing her, but enjoyed her quiet pensiveness. "My maid told me this morning Lysithea was missing, so I might go back to Goneril the long way."

"I see. Much as I am concerned for our peer, I advise you not to risk yourself for her search. Claude has his own people looking for her, I am sure, and Judith is monitoring the territory as well."

"_Claude_. Where _is_ Claude? Do you know?" _Ah, there it is. Perhaps the real reason she came here._

"No idea. I am sure your informants know as little as mine." He tried to keep the ice out of his voice while recounting to her what Lalia had told him earlier in the week. "Most importantly this has happened five times before. He will return unscathed; nuisances like him are more difficult to be rid of."

"Haha, yeah." Her eyes were downcast. She studied her tea. "Thank the Goddess you aren't so reckless."

"Me? Of course not. I have standards."

"It's nice to have someone to count on. I trust Claude very deeply; he's my best friend. But I never know what he's thinking... No, I take that back: he's always thinking about the future, or the whole world all at once. His head is somewhere else; and sometimes he follows it without warning." She grabbed a third cookie, this time one with frosting. "You know how to enjoy a cup of tea... And how to treat a lady." Her voice cheered, a sweet smile spreading across her face.

"I wish the opportunity had arisen sooner to alleviate some of your dismay; you are so easy to please."

"It's my fault, kinda... I wanted to apologize about the letters I sent you."

"Oh?" He wasn't sure what she meant; the letters she sent were polite and offered no offense.

"They were really cold, but I wasn't sure who could be reading them, and let's admit it: House Gloucester wasn't looking so great."

"Well, your instincts were correct-"

"Claude's instincts. He told me that if anyone was aware of our friendship, that I might become a target: for recruitment or for blackmail."

"I see. And so you maintained only the basest contact." It had hurt him, but he had gracefully let it go, counting Hilda as uninterested in even the most basic friendship. A lesson from the Professor: "_a gentleman would leave it at that, and move on_." He was more irritated that Claude would suggest she keep her distance, even if it was strategically sound.

His heart beat a little faster in knowing the indifference of her letters was not intended. After pouring her another cup of tea, he took her hand from where it rested on her knee to place the floral cup into it directly.

"Thank you Hilda. I will admit I was a bit worried about... about..." _Oh damned, what am I trying to say? What would I call it?_ "About our unkindled friendship."

She giggled.

"Unkindled. That's so poetic, that's so like you, wow."

"I am glad my choice of words amuses you." He might be incensed, but knew she meant nothing of it.

"Oh, Lorenz, we were already friends in the Officer's Academy, by the end. You just didn't notice!"

"Pardon me? Did not notice? How could I make such and offensive oversight?" His shock was genuine.

"You were always preoccupied with Claude."

"Yes, well, when he followed me around like a lovesick-" He stopped himself, blushing, and began anew "When he made it his mission to antagonize me for all my days, it was hard to ignore him. And you always seemed to be tied at the hip with him."

"He did always manage to make himself present. He can be pretty jealous."

"Jealous, likely, that I might outclass him in the field of both friendship and courtship." Lorenz turned his nose up in exaggerated pride.

"Courtship? Lorenz, you're sweet, but you're stupid" her voice rang sympathetic.

"Pardon me?"

"He was jealous of _both of us_" she said into her teacup, while staring into Lorenz's own stunned gaze.

* * *

They talked for another hour after her accusation, but it was more muted. An Awkward air had settled as Lorenz began to brood inwardly about her observation. Before leaving, Hilda beckoned to her maid, who produced a small silk wrapped box.

"It's not much, but I only realized a few days ago that today was your birthday. I spent all day yesterday trying to find something that was just right."

"My birthday? Oh, I nearly forgot myself, it's so insignificant in the grand scheme of things." He had little hope she would remember something so intimate to him; he played the fool to disguise that he was caught quite off guard.

"Maybe, but I do expect you to remember mine. Here" she rose from the chair, and took to the couch beside him "You're so particular, but I knew this was the one."

He took the box from her hands, pulled the purple bow that held the wrapping, raised the lid carefully: it was exhilarating. The box could be empty and he would still be overjoyed that she took the time, but laying inside was a brooch that was suited to him precisely.

"Hilda! This is absolutely perfect." It was a glass enamel red rose, some two inches across, arranged over a gold plate metal shield with a white pleat extending from the rose itself.

"I know, right? Let me put it on you." She softly lifted his chin with her fingertips, "It's stupid, but it's the first thing I noticed when I returned unannounced to Goneril Estate and you were passed out in the floor. You always had that red rose pinned to your chest at the academy- the silk one. You just look wrong without it."

"About that, I want to apologize profusely-"

"Please don't. It was hilarious." She pinned the brooch at the joining of his collar.

"Not the effect I would hope for. I am sorry all the same."

"Yeah yeah, I'll tell my father. I'll make it sound more groveling, he likes that sort of thing."

"I would rather not appear so pathetic in his mind."

"Groveling men are the only ones he trusts when I'm involved. Oh he _hates_ Claude."

"I cannot fathom why." They laughed knowingly. She leaned back to size him up.

"I was so right: just what was missing. _This_ is the Lorenz I remember."

"Fondly?"

"Yeah sure, if not a bit overbearing." She squeezed his shoulder and gave him a pitying smile. "But it suits you."

They made their farewells, Lorenz feeling more relieved and alive than he had in these past weeks. He urged her to stay in Derdriu, if for no other reason than to bring her unique joy to the city. For this, she gave him a friendly peck on the cheek, promising to visit before she left.

He ran over their conversation in his mind again and again, relishing her open claim that they were indeed friends. But his mind continued to hitch on her statement about nearly two years ago: "_He was Jealous of both of us_."

_Jealous of both of us. Why would he be jealous of Hilda? It makes little sense that there was anything he stood to lose to Hilda. They are best friends, a p p a r e n t l y._ That stung as well, but it could not be helped. There was no denying they were cut from the same cloth, though in different patterns.

He sat contemplating at a wrought iron filigree table that decorated the garden, his tea growing cold as he stared into the yellow roses that were almost gone for the season. The sun began to set. Wasting an hour in thought, he could fathom nothing that Hilda might steal from Claude.

* * *

Lalia woke him, striking a match to light the lantern where he had fallen asleep at his desk.

"Lord Lorenz, you told me to inform you as soon as Claude was back."

"Hmm..." He mumbled through a few indistinct words before settling on the common tongue "So... so I did. Where is he?"

"He was seen flying into Derdriu an hour ago. He is presumed to be at the Riegan Estate now."

"Is Alvina still here?"

"Yes, she is sleeping."

"Wake her. If he feels the it is appropriate to pay me midnight visits, I see no reason not to return the courtesy."

"Might you try to poison his tea as well, My Lord?"

"If only I were such a coward."

It was nearly ten. Plenty of time to arrive before midnight.


	12. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

After blackmailing the senile gatekeeper to let in unwarranted visitors in the middle of the night, Alvina lead them to the Wyviary to ask about Claude. Her questioning followed a trail of guards and servants, all stirred by his return, to find that he had wandered into the garden.

"The gardens are expansive, My Lord; I can navigate them in the dark but we have little hope of finding him." Alvina apologized. The Riegan Gardens were not only expansive, but winding, branching, and unkempt; they had fallen into disrepair during the slow fall of House Riegan and were only now being restored. Without Alvina they had no hope of finding Claude before daybreak. True to her word, even in the dark, she navigated between the sleeping plants like she had done it a thousand times before.

She took to a whisper.

"I've heard there is a secret place in here that he goes to. But I am not sure where to look. This is nearing the center, with the most tall shrubs and trees, so it is likely nearby." She looked exhausted, and Lorenz began to regret this entire expedition.

While Alvina prodded about various box privets, Lorenz caught a fleeting dot of white out of the corner of his eye. He turned to his left: only imposing cypress trees, thick, fifteen feet tall, stretching in a row for a hundred feet or more. There did not seem to be any passage between them, black shadows filling the space between their lacy, moonlit branches. But he could not deny he had seen something. Pushing through, he found the branches to be quite flexible, and it was only a few steps before he was in a clearing that one would not see from the outside.

_Another gazebo_ Lorenz noted with disdain, but it was far more grand than the modest affair at the Academy. It was preceded by a long pergola, over encumbered with wisteria, that began at an empty fountain. This must be what he caught a glimpse of through the most happenstance gap in the trees: the pergola frame was painted white, shining under the moonlight.

Distant, on the stairway to the interior of the gazebo, Claude sat with his head in his hands.

"Lalia, I've found him. You may be on your way." He whispered back through the cypress.

"I will wait here, Lord Lorenz."

Lorenz marched over to him, but it was a long approach through the pergola. He slowed as he came nearer the steps, unsettled: here was a man who prided himself on the upper hand, the offensive, and even at the sound of footsteps he did not stir.

"You are filthy." He looked like a commoner, covered in dirt and dust. Lorenz did not care for Claude's new, morose posture; it would not garner sympathy from him. Whatever concern Lorenz kept for him while he was missing evaporated when he saw him whole. "What business did you have that you must needs disappear in the middle of the night? For two weeks no less?" He asked evenly, though ready to shout.

Claude finally looked up from his hands, and managed a weak smile.

"Just a little vacation. Keep your jabot on." He said it as though it were a joke, but there was no kick in his voice. His every word seemed strained.

"It's not a jabot, it's a brooch. We had an agreement Claude. I have been staying my hand, waiting for your to return, patiently, to continue this glorious quest of saving the Alliance. I remind you again that I can only make so much provision for your childishness. It is your end of the bargain to outline your plans and your actions to me. I demand you deliver."

"It's not really a part of my plan. Just... a loose end."

"Even so, you allowed your walkabout to interfere with your duties. I demand to know what you could possibly prioritize over the entire country."

"Okay okay. But just let me work my way back to it. What did you do while I was gone?"

"Wasted my time refraining from making any rash moves without your counsel. Do you feel compelled to tell me now?"

"It's almost embarrassing. I need to muster more courage. Keep talking." Lorenz's temper spiked.

"What? Are you dancing for spare coins in the villages to accrue funding? That would be less embarrassing than a twenty one year old man running away from home on a whim! Out with it!"

"Aha! That would be easier than all of this. Maybe I should change my name and take up dancing. Did you get my letters?"

"Unfortunately. Do you want to explain the 'love letter,' as you put it, that Alvina brought me two weeks ago?"

"No."

"I spent a great deal of time pouring over it, assuming there was some hidden meaning. Trying to make connections and find a clues. I even thought it may have something to do with the other fake love letter you penned for me. I drove myself half mad trying to deduce some grand scheme arranged between the two. I thought it might tell me where you were."

"Then it achieved its purpose."

"... I do not understand. I never found anything of substance."

"I wanted you to think about me. So it worked. I win." His tone did not match his words; he was reading the lines of easygoing, teasing Claude von Riegan, but he certainly was not acting the part.

"Win? You _win_? I _worried_ for you. I was searching for some clue as to where you might have run off to, so I might know where to find you in case you never returned. Do you know how quickly the Alliance would deteriorate without an heir to the leadership? Duke Riegan would lose _all_ of his influence. I see now that such compassion is always wasted on you!" He snapped "Was that your intent? To put more strain on me as though I had not endured enough?!"

"...I'm an inveterate troublemaker. Trust me, I'm doing my best-"

"The bar you set is too low! Try harder!" Claude only stared through Lorenz.

"How do you want to celebrate the final hour of your birthday?" He tried to change the subject, clumsily. He simply rejected Lorenz's offense and tried on a new conversation like nothing had preceded it; his usual finesse was gone.

"It it well past twelve, my birthday has passed" he spat.

"You were late-"

"You were not _here!_ " he touched the brooch at his neck affectionately "-Hilda gave me this. I've already celebrated. Without _you_." Claude looked at him, his expression mixed and unreadable. He defaulted again to a fake easygoing.

"It suits you."

"..."

The air was too heavy, warm and sticky, the middle of summer. It made the silence feel more like smothering than it's usual absence. Claude crossed his arms, inhaling deeply. He stood from the steps to pace toward Lorenz. He drew uncomfortably close, a bad habit of his.

"I guess I'm ready to talk."

He remained silent for a minute.

Then two.

Lorenz cleared his throat to remind him to speak.

Claude looked at him, reluctant, then put his forehead to Lorenz's shoulder.

"_Claude_" he warned.

"... I was in Garreg Mach." A tremor ran through Lorenz. The anger that already coursed through him heightened, intermingling with fear: why he would so rashly go into such a territory unattended, poor in defense. What might happen should he be discovered. The thought of Claude never having returned, and never knowing where to find a body both chilled and enraged him. He could not choose a reaction.

"Why would you need to go to Garreg Mach?" Lorenz asked, pushing the somber man back away from him. "Were you looking for leads on the dark mages who support Edelgard's efforts?" Lorenz offered an answer, maybe the only answer he could accept.

"No. It's not even that proactive."

"Explain."

"Was ... looking for the body..." he mumbled under his breath, only a portion of his words audible.

"You were looking for somebody? Mincing words is beneath you!" Lorenz seized him by the shoulder "I tire of your evasiveness!"

Claude put his hands to his face, rubbing in frustration, running them back through his hair.

"I was looking for Te-" He stopped himself, like he was in pain "for uh... I thought I could find Professor Byleth's body."

Lorenz became livid. He was ready to lay into Claude, a cacophony of rude words that he would never touch in mixed company. He resisted, taking his tone instead to a cold reproach.

"You left Derdriu, alone, to go search for a dead body?" He recoiled from Claude, as if disgusted.

"That's not how I would put it."

"You are absolutely right, you may find this to be more accurate: You abandoned all of the Alliance, and it's living and breathing citizens, risking your life to search for a corpse?"

"Not a corpse. A body."

"Wh-" Lorenz's anger stuttered anew, rising in his throat "What the hel do you mean!? Have you lost your mind!?"

"She can't be dead."

The fire went out in Lorenz, the anger replaced with dread. All he could manage was to put his hand over his mouth, contemplating the fresh horror that Claude was so vulnerable, and yet so well disguising it. The confidant man with a thousand plans to save all the world was secretly chasing ghosts alone in the wilderness. Claude continued, trying halfheartedly to piece together his reasoning.

"I don't mean it in like a crazy 'I can't cope if she isn't alive' type of way. I just mean, we haven't found her. If we could, then the war could be over much sooner. More people would survive. What if Edelgard has her?"  
Lorenz could not listen to him any longer. He braced Claude's shoulders, near to shaking the life from him.

"Claude, come to your senses! She is under a mountain of rubble, under the water at the bottom of a ravine!" His own voice cracked, saddened by the gruesome image Claude forced him to dredge up.

"Well, now I know which rubble she wasn't under." Lorenz squeezed tighter, pulling him close to threaten him.

"Stop talking!" His voice pitched into a shout, his teeth clenching to stop himself from further, crueler admonish.

"I moved the rocks. Mages helped me-"

"I do not want to hear it!"

"Lorenz, this is important. Think about Monica, Tomas-"

"I do not want to hear another word of it! How _dare_ you! It's a disgusting effort, to dig up a grave!" Lorenz had made his own peace with the Professor's death; Claude's misplaced hope was a liability, as was his paranoia. They could not change it, and it distracted them from the matters at hand that they _could_ change.

Claude only wilted further, exhausted.

"Well, it won't happen again. There was nothing there." He knocked Lorenz's hands away and turned to leave. Lorenz almost let him go, not wanting to berate him anymore tonight despite his disappointment. Claude moved through the rising moonlight like a dead man. When he was out of sight, Lorenz remembered: he could not find his way out of the garden.

_I might rather sleep here than continue speaking with him. Then again-_

Lorenz burst between the trees he _believed_ he entered from, tripping and burying his face in the dirt. Lalia and Alvina had wandered away, naturally, and The Golden Deer was long gone. He did not want to spend the evening sleeping in the humid air. _And the bugs. _He shivered at the thought.

"Claude! Claude I cannot find my way out of this accursed maze!" Quiet met him, alongside a few crickets. There were no footsteps. He rose, afraid to move: someone might find him nearer the hidden gazebo. As minutes passed, he could no longer bear it; he chose a path and set off. "Lalia!"

"That takes you deeper into the garden." Claude rounded a corner. "Come on."

They exited the gardens silently. Claude entered the Riegan Estate, Lorenz following absently: he had lost Lalia and Alvina to the garden, enamored giggles rising through the tree lined walls. It seemed they would not return to Gloucester Hall tonight.

When they did finally wind their way back to the Riegan House, A sleepy maid meandered up to attend them.

"Please find Lorenz a room. Alvina will accommodate his retainer."

"Yes, Lord Claude." She curtsied. "This way, Lord Gloucester."

"A moment" he turned Claude around by the shoulder forcefully; he wanted more answers. But he just felt an overwhelming sadness at the thought of Claude digging through rubble. Words escaped him, and he just peered at Claude.

Claude said nothing. His eyes meandered, waiting patiently for Lorenz to speak despite his fatigue. After a few moments, he took the hand Lorenz had placed on his shoulder, pulling it around him, wrapping his own arms around Lorenz.

_An embrace?_ Lorenz leaned in awkwardly and pat him on the shoulder. _We have foolishly stumbled into a few indecent situations... but I do not believe we have ever hugged. _Claude wrapped his arms tighter around his chest, and so Lorenz responded in kind by moving to pat his hair.

_Perhaps I will talk to him for some time, before he falls asleep. That is the least I can do... as a friend._ Claude released him, making up the stairs. Lorenz had the maid show him to his own room, before asking to see Claude's.

"It is here, though it seems he has not returned." She turned the handle, absent of manners in her fatigue. "Odd. The door is typically locked."

"A fortunate mistake. You may take your leave; I can find my way back to my suite." She curtsied and left him to the dark room. 

The room was not completely dark: a line of light cast out from underneath a door, where Lorenz could hear water running. He waved his hand about the room to light the sconces, settling into a chair to wait. Claude's room was pleasantly warm, both in temperature and shade: Lorenz could barely see the skeleton of Fodlan's architecture under the orange, yellow, and white adornments that busied the room. There was also interspersed deep purples and muted reds: it was not unlike sitting in the sunset. Except for the ceiling, which the fine wood had been rudely painted over in tiles, deep navies and emerald, hung with some elaborate gold metal stars. It was the room of a wistful child, he thought, but it was Claude top to bottom. 

He dozed for some time, only to snap awake when the handle turned on the lavatory. Claude emerged, naked and freshly pat dry, the view below his waist blessedly concealed by the bed. 

He looked neither surprised nor pleased to find Lorenz brooding in a quilted chair. He barely acknowledged him, then crawled into the bed. Lorenz turned away. 

"I thought we might talk, if it makes you feel better." Claude had disappeared under layers of red and gold blankets. He reappeared shortly, having oriented himself and pushed several books into the floor.

"I'm not answering anymore questions."

"I agree, it is far too late for further interrogation. I simply considered you may want to busy your mind with conversation while you fell asleep. It sounds..." Lorenz struggled to empathize with Claude when he was still so _angry_... but this was another, more nuanced facet of partnership. "It sounds like you have had a very difficult journey?" 

"I did. I'm done talking about it. Unless you're coming to bed with me, just leave."

"Just leave. You send me that whimpering letter begging me not to ignore you. Just leave? Every comfort I try to offer is nothing to you-" Lorenz stood from the chair ready to berate him.

"You only offer me whatever is convenient for you to expend. Go away."

"And your invitation to bed? Is that what you need to take rest?" Claude was fumbling in a drawer beside his bed.

"Lock the door on your way out." He pitched a key toward Lorenz's head, narrowly missing. "I can sleep just fine alone." As if to prove his point, he gave in to exhaustion almost immediately, trusting Lorenz would storm out.

Lorenz instead stared at him for some time, almost too tired himself to move. _That is truly unlike him; for me to hint at accommodating his demands... for him to so flatly reject. _Even in his sleep his eyebrows were worried, and he seemed to be grinding his teeth. The expression was unlike him, but something else seemed out of place. Or missing. _His braid... his braid is gone. It was just there in the garden._ It seemed that the braid had been cut, no strand of hair long enough remaining. Lorenz was disappointed; it was one of Claude's hallmarks. He no longer looked like the same person.

He turned down the lanterns and left to find his own room._ If he has the notion, I suppose he knows where to find me. _He locked the door from the outside, pocketing the key.

* * *

Lorenz woke in the Riegan Estate guest room to the sound of Lalia dragging herself in. He cast an arm about the bed, surprised to find its other half cold and empty. He was disappointed with himself for.... being disappointed. He was able to pass an entire night under the same roof as Claude and yet remained unaccosted. It shook the very foundation of his expectations. He was concerned about Claude's well-being before, but now he was truly worried. _Or maybe he just grew up a little, like he promised._ The demand to 'grow up' seemed more infantile now, and quite lonely.

"My Lord... ugh..."

"Lalia? Where have you been."

"Slept... in the garden." She was covered in sweat, grass stains marred her white trousers especially about the knees. "We should depart."

"I need to talk to Claude about business matters. We should wait."

"The maids have informed me that his schedule today is full, and he will come to call on you tomorrow."

"How does he have a schedule when he only just arrived?" Lorenz became irritated over again. _He runs off for two weeks and kicks me out of his house._ "No matter. I've my own things to do."

"Yes My Lord? I was not made aware of your plans."

"I will tell you when I fabricate them. Let us leave at once."


	13. Plans in Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

Lorenz ran his fingers over the key that Claude had thrown at his head that night. It was brass, dark, with the head polished gold with from being handled. It was fashioned after the crest of Riegan, with a stag motif molded in the center of the inner crescent.

_Vanity._ Lorenz thought languidly. He had never been so fixated on such an insignificant item, but something about the heavy key was soothing: the keys to Gloucester were all lacy and elegant, fashioned of much lighter metal. He lost them all the time, not noticing when their negligible weight was absent.

The Riegan key was cold to the touch, unless warmed in his pocket. He had taken to carrying it around to run his fingers over it when thinking in the past day. _It's careless to let someone keep a key to your estate. Fool. Will he even remember I have it?_

He doubted the key worked for any other room, being sculpted with a deer. Not that Lorenz could get past the front gate without invitation.

He spun the key on his desk, waiting for Claude to arrive, to talk at him some more, likely about all the things he could not or should not do yet.

He pocketed it once more when he heard the front door knocker.

* * *

"So. Lord Morley, the bank owner, needs investigating. And the Vaultier Jericho. What was his surname?" Claude sat across from Lorenz in the Gloucester Hall sitting room. He spoke as if their rendezvous in the garden two nights ago never occurred. Within a day, the color had returned to his face, his usual confidence in his voice; the disturbed man Lorenz met under the wisteria was merely a bad dream.

"Jericho Anderton. His House was once very minor nobles; his family bore the Crest of Daphnel, infrequently, a daughter having married out from the Daphnel house centuries ago. Their last crest bearer was Jericho's great, great grandfather. Their status as Vaultiers have brought some influence back to their house, but very little."

"Interesting. You would think a man like him would be sympathetic to the Empire's goals of destroying crest power. But you say he openly insulted you for 'supporting' the Empire?"

"Perhaps their family is devout, regardless of their status. They are still of noble _blood_, and they do still carry the potential to bear crests; they may cling to the idea that they will regain more power if the right heir is born. The Empire would destroy that chance. Being a noble Vaultier and siring merchants is not so appealing as wielding combat power and governing of land."

"Very insightful Lorenz. You're-" Claude stopped short, unable to determine if his next line was just a complement or constituted flirting. He changed course. "You're doing a _very good job_."

"Do not speak to me like a child. Compliment Lalia; she brings me this information as easily as if it is being plucked from the garden." Lalia was not in the room, but Claude made a note to thank her... and investigate her. She was _too_ good.

"About Lalia." Claude's voice dropped lower. "Do you trust her?"

"She's been with me since I was a child, and may very well have saved my life when we fled. Of course I trust her."

" 'May have' saved your life." He stood, crossing the sitting room to check the hallway. He closed the door quietly. "We have to consider, at least briefly, that you were sent here."

"By who?"

"By your father, or the Empire; using Lalia as a lead." Lorenz straightened.

"No. I refuse to consider such baseless, paranoid delusions."

"You have to. If you consider it, and your opinion remains unchanged, I'll believe you. I'll trust you, and put the same faith in Lalia that you do." He took to his seat again "But if you refuse to consider it, I will treat her like any stranger. I need you to look for any evidence that she has ulterior motives." Lorenz still looked offended, but with a deep sigh, his expression gave way to worry.

"You understand what you are asking? Lalia may be my retainer, a maid, and in many ways a servant. But she is also a friend, almost like a sister. She is the only family I can trust... I do not wish to find any fault with her. If even she is not to be trusted, then there is no one I can trust. Not even you."

Claude was speechless. He had misinterpreted their relationship. Claude had always lived his life in Fodlan constantly vigilant, but with the knowledge that he at least had parents to return to, however distant. For all his isolation he had two homes, one intact family, and many good friends. Lorenz had forsaken his father; Claude knew his extended family to be just as infamous and fetid as Count Gloucester. Considering his abrasive ego, it was unlikely he even had friends. He _didn't_ realize what he was asking.

"I'm... not sure what it's like for you. I remain wary of the Duke, and I haven't seen my parents in... some time. It's very hard. I'm sorry I asked." He paused. "Just... if you can, think about it. It's important." He stumbled over his words, refraining from romantic declarations of how Lorenz could always trust him. How he wished he trusted him more than he did, and with more than politics. Claude was still kicking himself for making him leave his room when he visited the estate.

"I will consider it when I can." He rubbed the side of his face, as if in pain. "She fought alongside me, in Gloucester. Even when I gave her orders that defied father's. She has stepped out of line to protect me, you understand? I know that I'm an important 'piece;' my preservation, and the goodwill I feel towards her could be just another machination by my father. But I cannot... ugh."

"Are you okay?" Claude leaned forward, but his hands off policy left him little recourse.

"I am fine. Thinking of Gloucester gives me a headache." He sat with his eyes covered for a moment. He recovered shortly, fresh with his own questions. "Another pressing matter: what do you know of the Benettos or Sonata families?"

"The Sonata family is all but wiped out. I think Gerand Sonata and his niece Belea are the only remaining. Most of their family lived in the Kingdom, but died in the Duscur incident."

"Belea lost her life in Gloucester. But the Uncle knew of my arrival in Derdriu not long after you did; he visited me that very morning while you were in my bed oversleeping." Lorenz's skin warmed. Mentioning Claude in his bed as a veiled criticism backfired; it instead sounded too intimate. "How does someone in a collapsed house have such a reach?" Claude did not miss Lorenz's discomfort, but ignored it politely.

"Good question. I'll look into it. But why are you asking about the Benettos?"

"One of their sons also died in Gloucester, defending rebellious commoners. I intend to offer my condolences personally, given his display of valor."

"I wouldn't. The Bennettos are a mage family. Reclusive, but improving their standing too rapidly for their gains to be legitimate. They have three remaining sons and a daughter; all dangerous. "

"It is still in poor taste, considering I have met with two other families..."

"It's too risky. I sent a maid in once to seek hire, a spy. She stayed with them, cutting contract with House Riegan."

"Bold. And unnerving."

"It's unheard of. Any attempts to find out if she is doing it of her own volition have been absolutely fruitless. House Benettos is like a bottomless well; drop a bucket in and only a gnawed rope returns."

They both took a moment to ponder what could cause a spy to change alignment. Perhaps she was of bad character, they threatened her life; perhaps they offered her something better. _Or maybe she is under a spell. A sort of warning to House Riegan... or perhaps a hostage. Lalia was right to keep me from calling on them. But I knew their son to be of good character... perhaps a lamb in a family of wolves._

"And what of the five Roundtable Lords?"

"Well, three are accounted for, obviously. The Duke is neutral for political reasons, but he is really against the Empire. He won't enforce it, though. Duke Goneril is still deluded, believing there is no war. He's not wrong to be more concerned with Almyra; no doubt news about our instability has reached them. The other side of the border has become restless." A look of irritation crossed Claude's face. "But for now we have to trust Hilda; she assures me that when the time comes, he'll do the right thing, and I'm inclined to agree. I don't think we have to confirm his allegiance right away. And Count Gloucester..."

"A pawn of the Empire, regardless of willingness, but certainly without any power."

"Right... A pawn, but we will consider him like he is a willful supporter. There is a small chance we can manipulate your connection to your father, but it's unlikely. House Ordelia is fallen, so unless the Empire sends Count Ordelia in to negotiate, I don't expect we will even see him in the capital again. I know they don't support the empire, but their declining status makes them unable to offer any help."

"What of Lysithea? Have you heard anything at all?"

"No. I wrote to Hilda to find out what she can, but it will take some time for the letter to return-"

"Wrote Hilda? Are you not aware that she is in Derdriu as we speak? She gave me the brooch, if you recall."

"Hilda's here? I told her to stay put... I thought she _sent_ you a gift. You didn't say she gave it to you personally." A smile spread across his face in spite of her disobedience. Lorenz was jealous, that the mere mention of her presence made him glow like the sunrise. "It's still early; maybe I can see her today-"

"Hilda is quite busy, and will likely return to Goneril soon. She is aware of Lysithea's situation, and is tempted to go looking herself- should you meet with her, however brief, you should discourage this dangerous notion."

"Huh... so you've been talking at length. Spending a lot of time together?"

"Of course. She arrived the very day you ran off. She has been here for two weeks, and it fell on me to welcome and entertain her." Lorenz side eyed Claude to insinuate more, to make him uneasy. "We have spent a great deal of time together. Her sheets are very soft, some foreign cotton that feels better than silk."

Claude's expression sharpened; the smile was still there, but it was sinister now. He knew Lorenz was bluffing; it irritated him regardless.

"I hope you had fun while you could."

"Jealous?"

"What did you do, blush at her over tea? That's might be entertaining for me, but it's nothing to be jealous of. It's embarrassing for a woman to watch." Lorenz flushed, knowing that's exactly what he did; though their time together was much more pleasant, Claude managed to twist it in his mind to something to be ashamed of. But he could out class him.

"On the contrary, she thanked me for being here; for being level headed while _you_ were missing."

"I wasn't missing-"

"Your whereabouts were entirely unknown, which qualified you as 'missing,' Claude. You selfish-"

"Look, some things I'm going to have to do alone- You know what, never mind. I'll take it. We aren't here to fight." He sat up in his chair. "We've accounted for the other Lords, leaving Margrave Edmund."

"-Who thought we could still negotiate for independence from the Empire last I noted. His ideals might have shifted with the fall of Ordelia." Lorenz was still fuming, but if Claude could detach himself from the situation so readily, he could better him.

"He's an excellent orator; I admire his confidence in words, that we can negotiate instead of fighting, but we're past that point. I think we can count on him to realize the same, and win his allegiance. If we can sway him, he can convince the other Lords to follow with ease."

"How are we to approach Edmund?" Lorenz's hands were still shaking, but Claude had already resumed his state of ease. It only grated on him further.

"Our only connection is Marianne. I've written to her several times... but she's less than receptive."

"I would like to believe we were friends in the Academy, but I have received the same sparse letters from her as well. Perhaps I could visit; the journey is rather short."

"Hmm. I'm not sure you're the right person."

"...Hilda is our only other ally."

"Maybe." The mention of her name again put them both on edge.

"Is there not anything I should be doing? I feel as though I have done little more than sit about Gloucester Hall, waiting for direction that never comes."

"Well, we're more or less waiting for the official Rountable to take place. Until then I'm not in a hurry to move."

"Why so?"

"The Official Roundtables happen every three months, with supplementary meetings as needed between; and there have been many considering the war. Now that you are here, Ordelia has fallen, and the uprisings in Gloucester have been wiped out, I want to gauge the tone of the Five Lords... see how many of them actually show up. We can also gain insight into the opinions of the lesser Lords. After that, we move forward."

"That is in three weeks."

"Plenty of time for Hilda to visit Marianne and return."

"Plenty of time to wait around with nothing to do."

"Nope. We're going to devise a plan to find out more about House Benettos. They are too powerful; candidates to replace House Ordelia if the Alliance doesn't dissolve. We have to find out where their allegiances lie _now_."

"Oh? I thought you did not want me to associate with them. Even Lalia is wary."

"I don't want you to charge in or be caught off guard without a plan. Or support. And you're no maid; I don't expect you'll change allegiances."

"Not of my own volition, no."

"Bring Lalia with you to the Riegan Estate day after next, and we'll discuss all we know about the Benettos."

"Why not tomorrow? Why not now?"

"Right now I have to consolidate everything we know; tomorrow I'm spending all day with a special guest."

"Who?"

"Hilda. Bye Lorenz."

"You were unaware she was even in the city; do not expect her to clear her schedule for you." _He is always so cruel; he seems to think it is cute to mention her, to taunt me and leave me to brood. No more._

"She'll come. She always does." Claude winked at him while backing out of the room. Lorenz followed him, irritated. He wouldn't get away this time.

"Are you going to give her the Wyvern?"

"Thassia isn't trained yet, and neither is Hilda." He was nearly at the bottom of the stairs to the front walk, leaving rapidly to avoid Lorenz's questions. "I'll _propose_ that she accept Thassia in a few months or so."

"That is a tasteless choice of words, Claude: what are your intentions?"

"Well, she's my friend, so, I intend to keep being her friend. I'm certainly not going to brag about being in her bed and smear her reputation. Jealousy is a beast with many mouths, Lorenz. It bites back."

"I- you know- I did not mean- I am _not_ jealous" he stuttered at the thought of soiling Hilda's good name. "H-Hilda is my friend as well, and I know the way you toy with people!" He thought of the way her face fell when she spoke of Claude's recklessness. "And you treat her callously, as though she is tough as iron, but you forget she is still a Lady."

"Just say you're jealous."

"Naturally I am jealous! But it is otherwise my duty to reign you in. You are a a manipulator, but that makes for a poorly diplomat: everyone being a potential enemy or a pawn. You agreed to my aid, and here is my advice: your attitude needs to change."

"Are you jealous of me, or of Hilda?" Claude asked, rejecting Lorenz's admonish.

"You are doing it again."

"... You're right. Never mind. I'll meet with you later this week, Lord Gloucester." Expressionless, he bowed stiffly and exited the front gate.

"Bastard." Lorenz said to no one.

* * *

"Lorenz? Are you well?"

"No Lalia. Please leave." He was draped over the library chaise, face pressed into the arm rest. She instead positioned herself next to him after setting down the tea tray.

"You are dashing yourself against a cliff."

"I do not have the mind for metaphors right now." He sniffed. "I am merely overcome with fatigue."

"You are lonely."

"..._No_." She put her head on his shoulder and began petting his hair. "Leave me Lalia, I am in a pathetic state" he lamented into the cushion.

"You are full of love and full of pride."

"I have... work... to do..." His shoulders began to shake softly.

"Not right now." She leaned forward, pouring two cups of chamomile tea. "Right now, you are scheduled to cry a little bit."

"I am _not_ crying."

"Well then, take a few more minutes to _breath into the chaise loudly_. Then hold your chin up and drink the tea I made you." She sipped her own cup noisily beside him.

"Bad manners."

"Good tea."

He finally lifted himself from the armrest, bringing out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes before he would face her.

"...What kind of tea?"

"Chamomile. From home."

"Oh." He took his cup and held it tightly. 

"Do you want to tell me what is on your mind?"

"I am the only respectable Lord in all of Derdriu."

"You're being reckless, in your own way." She corrected him. He said nothing, bringing the tea to his lips to breath it in. They drank in silence for a time. "Lord Riegan. You push him away, he pulls away. You're inflexible, and he lacks boundaries. You could do great things if one or both of you could give a little."

"He has been nothing but cruel to me."

"He has. But you have been cruel too."

"How so?!"

"You reject him at every turn, but you look at him _like that_. Your every movement invites him, the way your body speaks. Your words do not match your eyes or your hips."

"Lalia, you are delusional. I have done nothing in the way of encouraging him." She sighed, irritated at the dissonance between his desires and his ideals about propriety.

"As a maid, a spy, I am your second eyes, Lorenz. You believe everything else I tell you, about anyone in the world. So believe me when I tell you that you are wanting."

"I do not _want_ in such a scandalous manner."

"You lie to yourself. Consider that you are fighting against something that is not so harmful as you think it is."

Lorenz reflected for a few moments. 

"It is rather unwise of you to advocate for him. He is questioning your credibility."

"A smart man. I _am_ rather suspicious."

"Can I trust you? If you tell me to, I will. I am not like Claude. I cannot be alone, suspicious at every second. I cannot sleep with a dagger at my waist and one eye open. I need you."

"You are not so alone. That being said, there is no one in this world you can trust more than me." She pushed his cheeks together with her fingertips, a habit from when he was young. 

"How do I know?"

She had the answer, but she wasn't allowed to tell him. She simply hugged him, tightly, and did not let go.


	14. Paralogue: One Handed Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

"Oh!" Hilda knocked into the corner of her vanity while trying to reach the shelf above. It was at hip height, and she had almost forgotten that the curved, beveled edge was perfect for a_ slow_ afternoon. She giggled, crossing to her doorway, and addressed a maid crossing the hallway.

"Hey? Yea. Afternoon nap. Tell everyone else to take a break. Don't bother me for an hour or so."

"Yes My Lady." The maid dipped her head politely, and made her way down stairs.

_No one is home but the servants~_

_No one's going to bother me~_

She returned to the vanity, pillow in hand. She lifted it gently to pull it away from the wall, sliding the pillow in between._ Hm. It's too hot for all of this._ She drew her curtains and slipped out of her dress.

"Romantic. One more touch..." She turned the full length mirror toward the lucky vanity, running her hands down her body. "I look _so_ good."

Hilda hopped a couple of times to watch her breasts bounce in the soft light casting through the curtains. She carefully placed the corner of the vanity in between her legs, pushing her breasts together as she braced against the surface.

A long sigh escaped her, and she began to sway her hips back and forth against the hard wood.

She was only going to relax a little, but her mind began to wander to Claude. After the string of proposals from nasty old men and dumb boys, she could not wait for him to run his hands over her shoulders, her chest, kiss her neck slowly and roll his tongue up behind her ears... someone who asked nothing in return but for her to feel good.

"mm... mm... mm..." She chewed her lip, pace quickening as the vanity knocked into the pillow against the wall. "ah... ah... ahhh..." Her eyes had drifted closed thinking about his bare arms pushing her thighs apart, but she remembered the mirror. Eyes open, she peaked, shivered and trembled as she watched herself brace against the desk desperately, her breasts bouncing in rhythm to her orgasm. "nnn... Claude....hah..."

She held onto the vanity for a few moments, legs weak.

Satisfied, she tossed herself down on the bed to sleep it off, still throbbing in tandem with her heartbeat. The cool sheets carried her off to dozing.

Her dreams weren't ready to let her rest. She was back at Gloucester Hall, and though she had never really desired Lorenz, the memory of him was a little rosier. _It was a really nice afternoon_ she said aloud in the dream, or in her mind somewhere between waking and sleeping.

The way he held a teacup was alluring, the way he slid it into her hands so gracefully, she couldn't stop thinking about his long fingers... and he was so tall, a head and a half above her. His ego might be grating to some, but he worked tirelessly to earn that confidence. _He's really sweet, to me at least. And he's honestly pretty enough for it too, since his hair grew out._ She giggled to herself, not as deep asleep as she thought.

_I've never really thought about Lorenz at all..._ in her sleepy state, she absently slid her fingers into her panties. _His hands are soft... _

Hilda was soaked from her first love (the vanity), her fingers sliding in with ease. It was never quite as satisfying as she thought it would be, but she imagined sex was much better. _Lorenz's fingers are longer._ She craned her arm a little more, pushing a little farther, but even knuckle deep it only felt okay.

If she thought of being nestled in Lorenz's lap, pressed against him on the tea couch... his hand up her skirt... that did it for her.

"Oh... Wow..." There was something... lovelier than the casual passion that her and Claude shared. She began to wonder about Lorenz beyond the fantasy; what words he might whisper in her ear, how he might run his hands over her differently. It was a softer longing.

She fell into a calm sleep wondering when she could see Lorenz again.

* * *

"Dammit." Lorenz removed the Claude's key from his pants. This pair seemed to have a longer cut of pocket, and the key continued to weigh down and press against his more sensitive areas, sliding against him with every shift he made; it felt as though an amorous finger was sliding across his head.

It reminded him constantly that he had a way into Claude's room if ever again he visited the Riegan Estate, and his mind would not cease wandering again and again through the ritual of unlocking the door, passing quietly through the doorway. His daydream always stopped short of running his fingers over Claude's body, as his pride took the reigns from his pleasure.

But something had to be done. Several hours of Claude's naked back on repeat- which made him recall also Hilda's graceful shoulder blades- had put him in an awkward state of sexual frustration that could not be avoided.

He drew the curtains, returned to his chair and unfolded a gold embroidered handkerchief. _The library is not ideal, but it will suffice._ He carefully angled himself away from the portrait of his father and mother that hung in an alcove.

It took only seconds for him to rise from merely bothered to hard. He had struggled to maintain distraction, but any time he gave in to lust he became a more ravenous man, unrecognizable even to himself. He tried gracefully to turn his thoughts away from Hilda, it being unfair to a Lady to laschivate over her without permission.

But he could not care just now. The way her breasts pushed into him when she put him back into her bed to sleep. The low cut dresses. The sweet smile that he knew to hide her own desires.

"Hilda..."

...He couldn't do it.

She was too pure of a dream for him. Already breathing hard, he removed the brooch she pinned on him to loosen his collar underneath. Claude was a petty, worthless man who needed no such respect. He would do.

Lorenz replayed again the desire to unlock Claude's door, to come into his room while he was sleeping and have his way without shame or witness. He could imagine Claude laughing at him, pressing fingers over his lips to quiet him, grabbing his wrists to mock-fight against his advances; eventually he would give in.

His mind wandered back to the Academy, the nights when Claude would pick his lock and sneak into his dorm. _He would straddle me, telling me if I could win he would leave. I made sure to lose often... As though he needed to fight just to get on his knees for me..._

"hhh... hhh... make me, Claude... My.... My golden deer... My love..." Lorenz shivered in relief, then jolted at his own admission, coming into the handkerchief.

He looked down, not realizing he had been clutching the key in his free hand. It was hot to the touch where he had gripped it in amory. Still dizzy with ecstasy, he wished it was something thicker and longer.

He dropped it into the floor, disgusted.

_Love. My love. Ridiculous._

* * *

  
It was never hot enough in Fodlan. Claude wrapped himself in all of his blankets, smothering in the mid day heat so it might feel like lovers pressed in around him. He dripped sweat in the tangle of satin covers, fantasizing instead that it was the skin of Lorenz and Hilda against his own naked body.

It was his cruelest fantasy, to have both at once, in the same room, fighting over him. But nothing else felt so good. He panted, mouth gasping for air as he brought himself again to the edge of relief, only to stop and play it over again in his head.

"...huff... huff... Lorenz... Hildaaa..." he dipped fingers- already sticky with saliva, sweat- into his mouth again. He was so thirsty, nearly spent; but imagining his face buried between Hilda's legs made his mouth water without fail. Freshly slick, he pushed his hand back down into the covers to finish: an hour was long enough to suffer such pleasure.

_I can't stop thinking about them. I can't stand it. I can't.... canthavethembothbut.... _

"Ahhhnn... Ugh..." He rolled onto his stomach to groan against the pillow, biting into its soft down to stifle himself. He released his teeth and pressed harder as he began to climax. His toes dug in and slid against the mattress where the sheets had long since pulled away in his struggle.

"Mmf! Mmf! Lorenz... fuck.... Lorenz fuck.... Hilda... take him... Ah! Ah! Ah!"

He let go, the smooth sheets finishing for him as he thrust against them. His climax took him to an uncomfortable place: the thought of Hilda straddling Lorenz, kissing him deeply, her breasts grazing his chest. In his mind, they had always begged to be picked one over the other, but this was... _More satisfying... not what I planned. Or wanted._

He lay there for a minute, embarrassed with himself, embarrassed for the maids, after he promised he would stop making such an absolute mess nearly every time he was so desperately horny.

"I'm just gonna... burn these." He lifted himself from the bed, sliding his hand down his stomach to wipe the stickiness away, onto the doomed linens.

"This is pathetic. Fuck." He was jealous. But now, oddly, he became preoccupied with Lorenz's dreams of marrying Hilda coming true. _Like it has anything to do with me._

Claude's jealousy morphed into something more tantalizing than envy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pick your fighter:  
Hilda "Well I bumped into this desk just the right way and now my whole afternoon is booked and I realized I was in love with the weirdo from college" Goneril  
Lorenz "Too scared to think of people to masturbate so I fap to shoulder blades and objects they've touched" Gloucester  
Claude "retires early to passionately jerk it butt-ass naked in the middle of the day and burn the sheets afterward" von Riegan


	15. Hilda and Claude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020

The Riegan Estate was easily one of Hilda's favorite places in the Alliance. When their House rebounded from collapse, a mysterious new heir revealed, Hilda was one of the first to meet him along with her father. Being an heir to one of the five major houses had many privileges, but she counted her familiarity with Claude as the best perk to date.

It had been too long. The gardens on the west side of the estate, where they became lost and became closer, were now more groomed: inviting visitors where before she and Claude could while the day undisturbed. Halfway down the brick walk to the main house, Claude appeared on a balcony. He waved, disappearing for a only a moment before appearing behind a scattering of buildings - one of many secret shortcuts.

"Hilda!" He ran toward her. She could barely contain her own excitement, but maintained her grace.

"Claude!" She wouldn't run... but she skipped a few steps. Maybe bounded a few times.

He met her with a crashing hug, uplifting her, spinning her in a whirlwind of pink twintails.

"You look like death, Claude!" She ran her hands through his hair.

"You look like a strawberry cake. Finally someone sweet to brighten up this insipid city!"

"Ohhh, you're using dictionary words. Bad week?"

"Bad month."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"We could. Would you like to retire to my room?"

"Oh my! I could never..." She feigned shyness, then smacked him rapidly on the shoulders, squealing with laughter.

"Claude, I've told you I am a refined, young, noble bachelorette, and I cannot come and go from your private quarters like some common maiden." She fanned herself dramatically as he set her back on the walkway, his hands lingering too long around her waist.

"No, but I can try. Where are your chaperones, miss?"

"I seem to have misplaced them, but surely they know where I'm headed."

"Would you like to explore behind the hedge wall, then?"

"Only if the flowers are as fascinating as last time."

They entered the gardens between the lines of cypress trees and boxwood hedges; not a maze, but winding enough to get lost and lose someone even during the day. It was most used during bygone, lavish soirees of House Riegan's better days. Now it was a haven for Claude and Hilda alone... and the stray enamored servants or dutiful groundskeeper.

* * *

"How is Goneril?"

"Boring. I stay so busy, but... doing nothing, in a way. It's routine stuff. That's why I left without telling anyone. Surprise!"

"You're doing a great job though."

"Anything for you." She said sarcastically. "But you COULD bother being here when I come back! I've been here two weeks, and father is making me leave soon."

"As he should; someone has to stay in House Goneril."

"Ugh, my mother can go through all the motions." She waved her hand dismissively. "And Holst is nearby. I want to be _here_. I mean, _everyone_ is flocking here."

"Everyone... I heard you've been meeting with Lorenz."

"Yep." She did not elaborate.

It had been some time, and the gardeners had moved plants and shifted paths in places. The changes, the neatly trimmed hedges and absence of wildflowers growing out of their borders made Hilda a little sad. Claude led her without a single wrong turn to their hidden pergola with the gazebo.

Hilda bounded to the empty fountain, running her fingers across the faded blue glass tiles that lined it, soaking in the good memories. She then greeted the pergola, turned and leaned against the archway, smiling sweetly against it's faded whitewash.

Claude made no move to rush. Hilda's visits were becoming more rare as they each began to bear more responsibilities; in her case, maneuvering them deftly away from her father. He wanted to enjoy each minute. There was no better welcome from such an awful journey, no better remedy for the despair that threatened to overtake him when he returned from Garreg Mach.

His hands slid around her waist, drawing her into a soft kiss. Before he could meet her lips, she slid two fingers in between them.

"How's it going with Lorenz...?"

"Hilda..." Claude warned in a playful tone, but not without venom. She giggled.

"Just _checking_." She removed her fingers, taking Claude's chin in hand to pull him in.

It was a well-worn, familiar affection. No frantic heart pounding, or nervous hands. Hilda was his reprieve, an oasis in a country with little family and few allies. He pulled back to kiss her forehead, as she tucked her head into his shirt and breathed in, running her hands along his back.

"Maybe it's time to stop."

"It's kinda nice." She mumbled into the linen.

"By Fodlan standards, it's a scandal. That's why your father and my Grandfather tried to have us engaged that one time, before it was conveniently sabotaged... It's kinda normal for Almyra." She pulled back eyes wide.

"Really? Tell me about this far away, foreign land that you have no doubt ready about only in books."

"Intimacy between friends is a given, encouraged, even. It's considered healthy. I hugged dozens of people multiples times daily, just as greeting. You stood close to talk, and sometimes even took each others arm just to have a conversation. Like this" He held her at a half arms length, with his body turned in toward her.

"Here, you make eye contact after winning a spar and your opponent blushes. If you brush someone's hand in passing, they start making wedding plans." His thoughts returned to Lorenz that first morning in the Gloucester Hall Library; he held and kissed his hands as a means to comfort him, falling back into his nature. But it was misinterpreted... or maybe his desires spilled over. Regardless, it only added to Lorenz's troubles.

"Um, that only happens sometimes; I don't think your experience is universal. You forget that you're _kind of _attractive-"

"Hilda, I never forget that I am extraordinarily attractive; that being said, I've seen a man start composing poetry after incidentally ordering the same soup as the very ordinary woman behind him in the dining hall. 'Oh it's fate, for us both to have such fondness for split peas.'"

"Ahahah! Claude, stop! You can't make fun of Lorenz like that-"

"I never said that-"

"I can't imagine anyone else being so desperate. Almyran customs... That is different." She paused for a moment, thinking about the hilarity that would ensue if Fodlaners had to make physical contact with each other daily. "But you didn't say you kissed your friends. Or ran your hands under their shirts. So is it like you and me in Almyra, with everyone who's friends?"

"Well... no. It's typically divided among men and women; women are intimate with women, men with men. I used to lay around with all of my male friends, heads on laps, heads on shoulders, holding hands. It wasn't romantic. Even petting was just a sort of past time."

"And kissing?" She found a soft patch of grass, leading him by the hand to sit down so she could lean against him.

"... rarer, but not taboo. I'll admit in my touch deprived state I've taken advantage of your hospitality."

"Mhmm, sure. But you know, being shy of those sorts of things makes for better romantic tension." She tilted her head back onto his shoulder for emphasis. There was no tension between them, her point made.

"Trust me, when you're falling in love with someone, the same touch means something entirely different."

"You know from experience?" His smile twitched for a moment.

"Maybe. But think about it: does shyness really make for better tension? I think it just makes a mess."_ It makes Lorenz intractable. _"Isn't it much nicer to just sit here with me without wondering if I'm going to propose to you, or launch bad poetry at you?"

"... This_ is_ much nicer. That other stuff only works in love stories."

"I didn't know you could read." He joked. She grabbed the inside of his leg and pinched. "OW! Stop! We both know you're lazy Hilda!"

"You can make fun of me being lazy, but I'm not dumb. How do you think I read all your stupid letters and plans and made your nonsense workable?"

"You're right, sorry, sorry...They weren't nonsense." He grumbled.

"I can tell you write most of your letters in the middle of the night."

"Ouch."

They let the bad mood roll of of them, laying back to watch the clouds passing by, the transient joy of quiet privacy in good company. They wrote to one another weekly, so there was little more to be said. Claude began to absently comb Hilda's hair. He ran his hands up and down her arms, making it a point to find all of her softer spots, and run the back of his fingers across them: behind her ears and underneath her jaw, just under her arm, the inside of her thigh.

"You're tense." He breathed in her hair.

"I'm not tense, I'm reacting because it feels nice."

"You're bracing. If it feels nice, relax. Drop your shoulders." He placed his lips on her shoulder to encourage her, running his full hand up and down her leg slowly.

The chest of the dress she had chosen was held in place by a single ribbon. It was modest in it's shape, in coverage, the ribbon's function almost unnoticeable. But it did not escape Claude's attention. Hilda considered it an invitation, having told him as much early in their friendship when he was so politely ignoring her subtle advances. His hand left her thigh to glide up her bodice, tugging at the ribbon.

He loosened it just so that there was space enough for his hand. If pulled completely, it would fall open... but that was never as satisfying as sliding his hand under her clothes. He wanted to feel, not see.

"This is what love feels like... between really good friends." Her breasts were hot, stifled by the padded satin cups of her bodice; a thin glaze of sweat made them feel slick like new silk. All the love he lavished on Hilda was indulgent: meant for relief. His caresses, slow and massaging, was all for her pleasure, the only thing he demanded of her.

"Mhm..." She nuzzled her head against his jawline. He was happy enough that she would lay her soft hands on him in all the same ways: to caress, to tease, to calm.

He couldn't relax himself. Claude became acutely aware that he was fondling the 'love' of Lorenz's life. Claude was equal parts jealous, disgusted with himself, and indignant. _Hilda is my friend. She wants this too... and I have to let Lorenz go for good this time... I can't give them _both_ up._

His worries spilled over in conversation.

"... Are you going to marry soon?" Hilda's eyebrows furrowed. Her shoulders tensed once again.

"Why do you have to ruin the moment? I'm not worried about marriage yet. Right now I just want to worry about not being sandwiched between two wars."

"... I just thought you might try cornering the exceedingly handsome Heir of Riegan. Then maybe, for just a little longer-"

"-Neither of us would want _that_." She pulled his hand away gently, tightening the ribbon of her bodice, but she only sank deeper into his embrace. "I mean, maybe it would work in like 10 years or something. But you have to admit this would suck if we were married. No fun."

He had never really considered it, but she caught on more quickly than he did. She was always right. It irritated him to think of her marrying anyone else, and he considered that he might rescind his affections to lessen the blow when the time came.

"You know Lorenz is in love with you." He thought bitterly about the brooch Hilda had gifted him. "We have to stop this sooner rather than later."

"I thought this was what _friends_ do, Claude? Even so, what I do before I start officially courting isn't really up for review" she huffed. "You're really saying all the wrong things today."

"It's just..." he couldn't verbalize his feelings of both envy and shame.

He was jealous. Not so completely that it consumed him, but enough to dread the day when Hilda's engagement would come... Or even Lorenz's. It was a minor distraction, pleasant in compare to the weight of the world. Concerning himself with Hilda and Lorenz was a normal issue for a man his age, and of a manageable magnitude.

It was always his fate to be the odd man out; they were both too clever to believe he was born in Fodlan. Their sense he would leave someday was palpable. It was time to start laying the truth in gently. To grow up a little. But it wasn't fun.

He never doubted he would have the world, but they would be fleeting comforts.

* * *

"Before you start crying on me, I have been meaning to ask you something."

"Go on." They were walking out of the garden, following the voices of Hilda's shouting chaperones.

"You're so worried about me getting married, but we're at war, and there is a more pressing matter that you have been ignoring."

"What is that?" She turned to face Claude very deliberately.

"I have done a lot to help you politically. And I really love you. You're very important to me, and I get so upset that you're here in Derdriu while I'm in Goneril."

"I love you too Hilda." He wrapped his arms around her once more, before they would be found. "But what are you getting at?"

"Claude. I'm going to be your retainer." He stared at her blankly. His eyes began to water. He dabbed at them before responding:

"No."

"It's not up for debate."

"I've seen the way retainers are; fanatical. I'm not going to use you as a human shield-"

"Of course not! I'll have you know, I value my life very highly, and I know you do too. Which is why this is right."

"But-"

"But nothing. Look, you're overwhelmed with joy. Who else do you trust Claude?"

"I have a whole army at my disposal; I can choose a retainer from among them." He took a step back, crossing his arms. He rubbed the corners of his eyes furiously.

"That isn't what I asked." She stepped forward, back into his space. "You're going to need me for more than playing distant Lords just to sway their insignificant opinions. You need me _and_ Freikugel. And I can't handle another marriage threat from one more greasy Lord!"

"Hilda, you can't-"

"I can and I will. And that's the end of it."

"No, I mean you can't keep up with me. You'll need to learn to ride a Wyvern." He gave in, a smile bursting across his face. She beamed at him, hugging him tightly.

"I never have time to practice! And my mother! Oh, mother worries so much about me falling off, she always finds a reason for me not to-" They connived ways to both console and distract her mother, until they decided it was time to let Hilda's frantic chaperones find them.

After meeting up with a servant, two maids and a butler, Claude watched in amusement as Hilda rejected their scolding. When she was done pointedly ignoring them, she walked away and gestured for Claude to join her in arm. 

"Oh by the way how long has Lorenz been in Derdriu?" In proper company now, all the people it took to keep track of Hilda remained uncomfortably close, as if she might bolt. "I forgot to ask him."

"Ehh, Three weeks or something. How did you find out he was even here?"

"I found out first hand. I stopped by our Estate first, obviously, and there he was, unconscious in our sitting room-"

"Unconscious!?" He turned back toward her, halting the procession. "Hilda, why was he unconscious?"

"Goddess, Claude, he didn't die, calm down. So, I assumed father had killed him; maybe he proposed or something stupid like that-"

"He's not stupid like _that_." _I don't think._ His worried tone pressed her for details.

"Anyway, there was this green haired woman, waving a knife around, doing something with paper and chemicals, and there was tea everywhere. So of course, I attacked her!" She said it with a shocked tone, as though she still didn't believe it had happened.

"You fought with his maid?"

"Nooo, no, my father pulled me off of her right away. Oh, but I could have crushed her. She was like 'the tea isn't poisoned, something else is wrong.' " Hilda imitated Lalia's flat, stoic voice with perfection. "We put him to bed, there was singing, I prodded him awake, and he went home. Or to the Hall. He didn't go all the way back home- you know what I mean!"

He said nothing, his hands kneading together behind his waist. _Well now I know what he was doing in her bed. That bastard._

"He didn't tell me any of that. I need to go see him."

"_No_, you need to let him rest. How long was he here before you started in on him?"

"One... hour."

"You've been doing it again. You've been tormenting him."

"... I stopped. I even sent him an apology."

"I saw your apology while he was laid out on my pillows; you're little love letter is so thinly veiled- never mind, that's not the point. He's not ill and he doesn't want you to know-"

"But why was he unconscious?"

"I don't know." She had considered not telling him about the incident at all, but Claude was one of few people it felt icky to deceive. "He was dreaming about something. He called out for Professor Byleth." Claude tensed for only a moment, his hands giving pause to their worrying, before regaining his posture. Hilda waved her various chaperones away, scolding them for their close distance. She walked a length away from them with Claude in tow.

"I meant to ask you, since we're talking about dreams. Are you still having the nightmares?"

"You'll have to be more specific. If you mean the one where I'm naked and the wyverns are chasing me-" She rapped him on the shoulder.

"Be serious! The one where you're with your parents and..."

"... And their skin splits open so one of those inhuman-looking things can crawl out? Not so much anymore." He only half lied. Now in the dreams it was Lorenz, and only the night prior Lysithea, who were empty bodies being worn by the Empire's dark mages. Tonight it might be Hilda.

Most often it was Teach, but he didn't want to upset her with that image. He never believed she was gone, but was too terrified she would come back wrong. It drove his obsession to find the body.

Hilda paled all the same. She was always suspect of his half lies, and always managed to see the whole picture through his polite little deceptions.

"Maybe... I could find some way to spend _one_ night with you. You look tired-"

"No. You have a reputation to worry about, and I can't deal with another lecture about 'Fodlaner Culture and Etiquette' from the Duke." She took his hands, much in the same gesture he tried to pass on Lorenz, and pressed them to her lips.

"I'm worried about you."

"Don't. Worry about training."


	16. House Benettos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-16-2020  
Change Dismaea's name to Dina because I Didn't like It.

"House Benettos. Dark, mysterious. Bunch of red heads."

"Crimson, sir" a butler corrected.

"Yes, accuracy is important."

As usual, Claude continued as though there was no fight over Hilda, no feelings wounded, and no apologies to make. Lorenz sat to his right in the Duke's presently vacant meeting room along with Lalia, Alvina, and another butler and maid whose names had not been shared.

"The primary family occupies a Chateau to the Southwest, just barely in Riegan territory, bordering Ordelia and Gloucester. It was abandoned by the Riegans some 200 years ago, purchased by a merchant much later, who went conveniently bankrupt despite record profit. All in time for the Benettos to purchase for much less than it had cost the merchant to restore it. About 25 years ago."

"Being a former holding of House Riegan, do we have designs of its construction?" Lalia asked.

"Not that we know of, but Morven here-" Claude gestured to the Butler "-is trying to track the merchant who might have redrawn the floor plans for the restoration. That was 30 years ago. Which leads me to the next issue: everything that is traceable is old. Half of the family moved to the Empire 97 years ago; we don't know who or why, but about 30 family members migrated. They aren't our problem just yet."

"Is that... all?" Lorenz questioned tentatively. Claude rifled through several papers. He avoided eye contact, speaking with the table at large in lieu of addressing Lorenz directly.

"They have a vault at the bank. If we had access to a trustworthy Vaultier, we could find out much, much more."

"This ties in with our other issue quite nicely. But if we take too long, my excuse of visiting to offer my sympathies will wear out." Lorenz offered.

"It will. But I don't want you running in haphazardly..." he shuffled some more papers around, looking for anything he missed.

"They are holding a wake in one week, My Lord." Morven reminded him.

"Yes. Let's say we have a week. If you go to the wake it won't be suspicious at all."

"They are holding an open wake? For who?"

"Lord Marco Benettos. The very same Gloucester knight who fell... two months ago?"

"That is disconcerting. The Sonata and Yarborough families never received the bodies of their kin."

"... Something to consider. Maybe the Benettos simply had enough wealth to go retrieve him on their own."

"Retrieve the body of an Empire traitor? Unlikely, unless they have privileges with Edelgard's ilk. It takes no small effort and immense time to properly transport a body."

"Right. Oh, and it's not an 'open' wake per se." Claude motioned to the Butler again, who seemed to be in charge of this matter.

"We only know there is a wake by our own investigation. You must have the information come to you organically as an excuse to arrive on time. It would be best if you could get an invitation." Morven explained.

"Unlikely, but if you know someone who would extend me one, I am willing."

"I am searching for a way, but we might consider that the superlative Heir of a Count would naturally be made aware by his own people, with no need to explain himself." 

_Superlative. I like that. This butler is very skilled at his job._ Claude cut into his thoughts.

"We'll find a way. That's settled for now. Back to the Vaultier, Clarissa?"

She cleared her throat.

"Vaultier Jericho has a wife and two daughters: thirteen and ten. Both are already training to be knights. They are hiding something major; I have reason to believe one of the daughters bears a crest, but it is unclear which. It is likely they intend to conceal it until they she is of age to protect herself from jealous family members."

"Truly? No wonder he speaks so harshly against the empire. The unlucky daughter would upset the local power hierarchy, breeding contempt from wealthier crestless commoners. Maintaining Fodlan's socially imposed deference to crest power would ensure her safety and her dominance." Lorenz was distraught. Her father was too obvious; his outburst had lead them to this discovery. If the wrong person caught on, the little girl would likely pass her next birthday in the ground.

"Yes sir. As for Lord Morley, he maintains a neutral stance much like the Duke. There is little we can know about him in the way of allegiances. His apartment in the city is sparse; nothing to raise suspicion because there is nothing to look through."

"Why do elderly Lords insist on neutrality at all costs?"

"Lord Morley is only forty-three." The maid corrected. She concealed her desires poorly, then blushed when she realized what she revealed by speaking of her target so warmly out of turn.

"Only forty three? Huh." Claude commented dryly. She knew well that she had given herself away.

"Sorry, Lord Riegan."

"We'll talk later. You're all dismissed. Except you Lorenz, I want to talk." The maids and butler left the meeting room swiftly, at all different exits. Lorenz rose and walked to the window; he did love to look out over the flower beds; the change of scenery from dying roses was welcome.

"How have you been?" Claude braced himself against the window's opposite frame.

"In the day since you last saw me? Studious. The war has set my certification behind." He suspected Claude was trying to gauge his emotional state, but he would not give him the satisfaction. _Let him languish over it._ "Why is Hilda not in attendance?"

He was genuinely curious; as little as he wanted to bring her up, it made no sense for her to be absent.

"She left to visit Marianne this morning. I briefed her on everything before she went." The sentence had a finality to it, the conversation dropping off immediately. It was only ten in the morning.

Lorenz began questioning the statement: _how early in the morning was she briefed? Where was she was briefed? Was it from this grandiose meeting room? From Claude's bed?_

He shook the thoughts away. His suspicions about Claude were not fair to Hilda's character. In slandering him, he had inadvertently painted her as disreputable in his mind. She was not involved with their own disputes, and so Lorenz let go of any notions that she was involved with Claude. _It is not my concern until we are engaged. _He let a soft smile cross his face at the thought, unlikely as it was.

Claude seemed to be likewise mired in thought. Lorenz studied him, Lalia's words haunting him suddenly: "_Your every movement invites him, the way your body speaks._" His neck warmed as blush spread across it. Claude naturally chose this moment to look up from his thousand yard stare.

"What's on your mind, Lorenz?" He noted the red spreading to Lorenz's ears.

"Nothing particular... Lalia mentioned something that disturbed me."

"Oh? Scary disturbing, or... embarrassing?"

"Improprietous."

"Feel free to share; I'm always here for you." He winked. He began to sway closer, before catching himself. He crossed his arms instead, taking a casual step back.

"She said... that perhaps. She said I may be..."

"Take your time."

"Never mind what she said. I only mean to apologize if ever I seemed as though I was inviting your advances. They are unwelcome, regardless of my..." _My hips turning toward you in anticipation. My eyes worrying about your collarbone, dwelling on your missing braid-_ The blush spread fully across his face. "... Regardless of whatever you imagine."

"You say that, but you're pulling on your hair."

"Pulling on...?" Without his notice, he was indeed worrying about one of his longer strands. _Is this a tell? When did I start doing this?_

Claude considered how the conversation could go, if he could just say it. _You twist your hair when you're unsure. You don't believe what you're saying or what you've done._ He opted for the safer response, remaining indifferent as he had promised.

"You seem to do it when you're worried."

"It had escaped my notice." He released the strand. "A tasteless habit. It means nothing."

"I think it's very personable."

"You believe it to be revealing."

"Maybe. What are you worried about?"

"That you will misinterpret me to harass me for eternity."

"Come on, that's not fair. I've left you alone for at least three weeks now. Before you came to Derdriu, I didn't bother you at all."_ I think he's worried I won't harass him forever. He know's I'm not misinterpreting anything. _

"You were missing for two of those weeks. They do not count. And I got your letters over the year; would if could have 'fled Derdriu to be in my arms.'"

"What do you want me to do? Blindfold myself when I'm around you?"

"At the very least, stop trying to molest me at every turn." Claude felt something very close to anger, but with Lorenz it was always tinged with longing. "I wish we could be friends."

"Excuse me, but _you_ kissed _me_ first on the bridge two years ago. _You_ kissed _me_ first in the garden. _You_ tipped back that wine bottle, and kissed _me_ first in the dining hall a few weeks ago. You came to my room that night, when I returned from Garreg Mach, just like you came to my room just before Garreg Mach was attacked-"

"Enough. What I have done and what I wanted to do are- are separate things. What I do from now on and the precedents I set previously are unrelated."

"Liar."

"And if I am?"

This baffled Claude. How Lorenz could admit he had wanted him, admit that what happened in the past was no dream or drunken misremembrance. He could even tell Claude to his face that he didn't want him, only to admit he was a lying about it when accused. Was more arguing with him another ploy to bring him close enough? He couldn't tell anymore.

Lorenz has studied Claude's own games too closely, but enacted them without realizing it. Claude made a game of politics, but Lorenz made a game of relationships... but perhaps only their relationship. _This is what I deserve_ Claude caught himself thinking.

"If you're a liar... that means your need for excuses is becoming pretty complex." He stepped back again, further from Lorenz. His temptation always peaked when they were arguing; every argument in his mind was better solved with hands and tongues. "You need a reason to touch me. You need an excuse to find yourself in my room, supposedly against your will. You need to be able to say 'it's Claude fault' if we are ever seen together. But you're too close and you're scared."

"No- I have no need for an excuses. This argument is not a precursor, it is not foreplay; I have simply chosen not to involve myself with your lecherations any longer."

"Yeah, you've told me a thousand times only to turn around and beg for it. How are you so-_ so-_" He didn't know what to call it. "you're paranoid... of yourself. Of what _you'll_ do, not me."

"No Claude, _you_ are paranoid. I extended the courtesy of an apology for any confusion I have caused, and it has turned into such an argument. I am protecting myself. Goodbye."

_Full of pride and full of love_, he could hear Lalia echoing in his head. Her accuracy could be a curse. He made for the exit hastily.

"Lorenz, wait. Please."

"You will always have Hilda." _I suppose I did not succeed in letting that go. No matter._ He was nearing the front door.

"Is that what this is about? Please, talk to me." Where before he had been calling after him, irritated, now hurt rose up in his voice.

"I have and I am finished. I do not know why you are so upset." He slung the door open on his own, the doorman scrambling from his post outside. Claude grabbed his wrist.

"Please, we have to stop doing this."

"You have stopped. I have stopped. We have discussed the matter civilly, and it is done. Unhand me" he said flatly.

"You're not okay."

"I assure you I am_ fine_." He turned on the doorman. "Inform Lalia for me, please, that I have departed. She should be rolling around with Maid Alvina somewhere." He turned back toward the threshold.

"Good afternoon, Claude" he inclined his head, while using his free hand to gently pry Claude's fingers from his wrist. "Until I depart for House Benettos in a week's time."

* * *

At first Lorenz considered inviting Vaultier Jericho for tea; since it was making the request of his time, it was only proper to serve him. Asking for an invitation was tasteless... but he was hoping for the chance to observe Jericho's daughters. Yet inviting his entire family was too peculiar. He instead called on him for an unspecified meeting, fishing for an invitation.

"Lalia, this is tacky. I do not even have a proper excuse to call on him." He complained into his tea.

"Making underhanded alliances and spying on people's families is never graceful." She answered him while writing. "Claude seems to think it will work out, and he tends to be correct."

He had written Claude about his plan, only to receive a sheet of paper with 'Sure. Claude' scribbled on it. _He can pout forever if it keeps him out of my way._

"He hopes his plans will be successful, and the labor of better men makes it so. I am a diplomat to be sure, but I fumble with underhanded schemes like this."

"You will be fine." She did not look up from the letter she was writing.

"What is that you are penning?"

"A love letter."

"Oh? Are you luring someone in to tease out their secrets?"

"I'm telling Alvina the ways that I adore her." Her confession was not painted with romance or longing.

"...Are you quite positive? Your voice suggests you are writing on business."

"Confining love to a single sheet of paper takes concentration. It is very serious work." She crossed out a word and continued. "You should know; you've written so many and stuffed them under your bed at Gloucester."

Lorenz choked on his tea, spitting it back into his cup.

"How do you know about those?" He panicked. "Did you read them?!"

"All of them. It is a part of my job, as a maid and retainer, to know everything about you. I cannot work towards your interests otherwise... it's also what sisters do, and since you seemed to think we were related for so long I like to keep up the act." She grinned at the paper.

"That's too far!"

"It was not a problem until you were aware of it, so I have caused no harm. You are an adult now, however, and I should be able to tell you openly about such things, and you me." She looked at him now. "You should be able to tell me anything."

"How, when I am having second thoughts about your loyalties? I am beginning to think you are a spy- a well placed one." He dumped his tea into the plant behind him, pouring a new cup free of backwash. "My feelings are private- wait, have you read the letters I stored here?"

"You've written so many for such a short period of time, I may have missed a few. But I always favor the poetry." He placed his cup on the table and sank into the couch mortified.

"Leave my service. Go away and do not return."

"Hush. No one else knows how long to steep your tea." She rose from the desk, and waved her letter in his face "Read this."

"I do not want to, that is a private matter."

"I know firsthand you are very good at writing love letters: if you ever sent them, you might be married by now. I need your help."

He squinted at the letter from his place deep in the cushions, then pulled it from her hands.

"You're using the same words too many times. Only refer to each part of her once-" he was red as the passionflower tea they enjoyed "l-lavish your words across her whole persons like you might do with your hands."

"Ah, that's what's missing. Passion. Thank you Lorenz." She went back to her seat, pulling out fresh paper. Lorenz peeked over the couch at her.

"Are you truly in love with Alvina?" He asked; she sounded serious, but there was a sadness beneath it.

"Ahh... no. I think she's hiding something."

_She _is_ infatuated, but Alvina may be a traitor. A pity._

* * *

"Welcome to Gloucester Hall, Vaultier Jericho. You are a fortunate man, having the escort of two lovely Princess's."

"This is Dina the eldest, and Gala. Thank you for having us." Lorenz extended his hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dina." She was a stone face little girl, but it was offset by her large, brown eyes. She placed her hand in his, he kissed the air above it; she pulled it back quickly and scowled.

"I am going to be a knight, not a princess."

"My apologies then, Ser Dina." She let the corners of her mouth turn up at this, full of pride. He directed his attention to the younger daughter, who was wide eyed and glowing. "And Miss Gala, are you a knight as well?"

She copied her sister, but more enthusiastically. She giggled when Lorenz had to bend so low to pretend to kiss her hand.

"I'm a knight _and_ a princess."

"Strength and grace go hand in hand."

The Vaultier had surprised him, by offering to meet him at Gloucester Hall, but also mentioning that he may bring his children with him. Lorenz was elated when the message came, but it was short lived when he noted bitterly that whatever Claude thought might work had a tendency to fall into place.

"I must apologize, their mother is ill and I do not entrust their care to just anyone." Jericho offered as Lorenz rose.

"I understand entirely. There are few who can be trusted in times of war and espionage." _So we are getting straight to the point, then._ "Perhaps you will entrust them to the drawing room, while we take the sitting room?"

"Certainly." He still sounded nervous, but if he trusted Lorenz enough to come, then he must at least trust him enough to let his daughters sit across the hall. Lorenz escorted the girls to the drawing room personally, and instructed Lalia to serve them for the duration of their meeting.

"I was confused by your letter, considering the way I behaved some weeks ago. But I have heard that you are detached from your father's influence."

"I did not know such information was readily available. But... yes, though I have not stated it formally, and have remained reclusive, I am no longer of the same opinion as my father."

"That is a relief."

"How so? I do not understand why you, a Vaultier, would be concerned with the state or loyalties of House Gloucester. In fact, I must admit I am shocked you both accepted my invitation and brought your children."

"It is... complicated."

"I can tell you what I already know, if that would facilitate explanation."

"... You're spying on me?"

"After your little outburst? Of course, and I am sure I am not the only one. You need be more cautious, for your daughter's sake."

"You invited me here to threaten my children?"

"Not at all! And I must assure you, I mean this sincerely... I know one of your daughters bears a crest. Your flippant attitude toward the Empire has already drawn attention." The Vaultier turned deathly white.

"How? How did you know?" His voice a whisper. "Who else knows?"

"A few maids, one other noble Lord."

"Can you tell me, does Lord Morley know?"

_Lord Morley? That is an interesting development._

"I am not aware, but he is not one of my confidants. Why do you ask? ... What can you tell me of Lord Morley?" His daughters' laughter carried from the other room through the silence.

"He has no children. No heir; the bank is his power, but no one considers it true power. Our families and houses have been close in the past, and so if anything were to happen to me, it would not be out of turn for him to take my children."

"You suspect he would kill for an heir."

"Yes. It would all be tidy, and he would receive my daughters in good standing."

"Do you know of any ties or allegiances he might have to the Empire?"

"No. But I would not count him an ally. Those who are rigidly neutral about an offensive force invading their homeland are typically quiet sympathizers."

"...An interesting perspective. Back to my father. Why is it such a relief to you specifically that I do not support his actions?"

"Me, specifically? No. There are many who consider you the future of the Alliance. The Riegan Heir has made many friends and connections, but too many still distrust his origins."

"Many? Who?" _Is the Crest of Riegan not enough to convince them? ...Do I maintain the support of the Leicester Alliance bigots?_

"_Many_, I will not say more than that."

"Very well." The man was nervous. Uncomfortable. He continued to look toward the drawing room, though his daughters could be heard talking clearly.

"What do you want... what could I give you to ensure their safety?" Jericho asked.

"Me? Why do you trust me, of all people?"

"I don't know. Your reputation. You're position. You_ care_ about people who can offer you nothing: commoners, lesser nobles. I've heard good things about you."

"... without influence or access to the Gloucester Vault, I have no means to protect them." Leveraging his daughters safety for the benefit of vault access was despicable, but it was true: he had no money, what little they brought now depleted.

"I can help you, of course, if you can promise me. If something happens to me, my wife, make sure my daughters are cared for; and_ not_ by the people who killed me." The surety in his voice that he was soon to meet a gruesome end startled Lorenz.

"Has something happened? Are you in imminent danger?"

"Maybe. Nothing has happened but... you know you can just feel it, death waiting. Allow me to make any moves concerning the vault sooner rather than later, or you may lose your chance.

He rose to go see his daughters, his disturbance having reached a fever pitch. Lorenz followed him. They stood in the drawing room doorway.

"Can you tell me which daughter bears the crest? I will reveal it to no one."

"No. I want both of them protected equally."

"I could assure you that I have no intentions of favoritism, but I understand it would be meaningless considering your situation. I will not press. It is a Daphnel Crest, however?"

"Yes... a Major Crest of Daphnel."

"Oh. What an unlucky girl."


	17. Chateau Benettos: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-17-2020

"Hilda has made it safely to House Edmund." Claude announced as he emerged from the gate to the Riegan estate, trotting to meet Lorenz in the street. Mounted, with Lalia and Alvina following, they began making their way to the Benettos Chateau. The early morning fog was streaked with sunlight. "She was thrilled when I asked her to go... It was kinda odd, I didn't think Marianne could inspire such excitement."

"Perhaps it is different between women; it may be Marianne simply despises men."

"Possible."

"A shame. There is a cerulean sky in her heart, waiting behind storm clouds of her mind."

"Beautiful, did you harass Marianne too?"

"I merely told her that she had a hidden grace about her. Unfortunately she declined my invitation to tea several times."

_You're unfaithful, Lorenz._ Claude thought, coming dangerously close to teasing him aloud.

"That's unfortunate for you." He said plainly instead.

Claude was being amicable again. It seemed so long as they avoided talk of Hilda, or of the past, he and Lorenz could maintain their new professionalism. The words of comfort Lalia had offered the week before still haunted him, however. "_Your every movement invites him, the way your body speaks._" It caused Lorenz to sit straighter, avoid eye contact, and cross his arms whenever the words echoed in his mind. Her comments on his hips disturbed him most; surely he was not swaying around like some comely dancer without his own notice. _I have never done any such thing, but if it pleases Lalia to see me more defensive than ever so be it._

"So. House Benettos." Claude said awkwardly.

"Twenty hours horseback, one way. Unfortunately." Lorenz had been dreading the trip for days. The trip to a "I intend to make the trip in three days. We will ride briskly, leave our accommodations early, and make record time."

"You know, if you were willing to ride a wyvern with me, we could be there in a quarter of that time."

Lorenz did not respond to Claude's admonish: he saw the way Claude handled wyverns, and felt his reluctance need not be explained. He changed the subject.

"I do not like the notion that the Benettos all retreated to their distant chateau. I feel as though a frightening novel is to be written about us in the future."

"You say retreated, I say gathered for a funeral. About the wyverns-"

"Even more unsettling: how did they receive Marco's body?" Lorenz continued. "Lady Belea and Lord Edwin were not returned to their families. I suppose the remaining villagers buried them in Gloucester with honor."

"_If_ they were buried."

"That is gruesome, Claude. Do not invite such vile thoughts."

"You're the one who said we're walking into a horror story."

"You did make the comment about the Benettos being like a monster in the bottom of a well."

"I did, didn't I? That's on me. They could stand to be less creepy though."

"Are they truly that shocking? I have only met Marco and he seemed ordinary, if not a little pale."

"Imagine Hubert von Vestra, but even more... Hubert-y."

"Ahaha! That is a more disturbing image than that of a well-dwelling monster."

"Hah! you're right. I'm_ really sorry_ I made you think of that."

It was easier than Claude thought it would be to recover from their.. disagreement? Argument? He didn't know what to call it anymore. He wanted to apologize, again, but the moment never was right. Bringing up his own childish behavior might only ruin the mood. The ease that came over Lorenz as they passed the time on the road made Claude that much more... frustrated. He would keep playing nice as long as he could watch him laugh, see his shoulders at rest instead of pent up in defense. He smiled as they passed tall trees with squirrels running about them; when a particularly beautiful patch of wildflowers arrived by the roadside; when Alvina made a bad joke to pass the time.

_Maybe just being friends won't be so hard. Maybe I can just... outgrow teasing him. This is definitely more difficult though. He's more tempting like this. I thought I enjoyed fighting him, but it would be nice if he could relax like this all the time._ His fantasies of tricking Lorenz into kissing him were being replaced by thoughts of Lorenz coming to him intentionally, a smile on his face, being kind and obliging, Lorenz removing his clothes willingly, eagerly-

Claude scolded himself for falling back on impossible daydreams. He pushed back on the saddle to relieve the slight pressure he was mounting against the pommel. 

"Do you remember what you're supposed to look for? What to ask?" Claude steered his horse closer, wanting to speak while they could. It had been a long and lonely week with Hilda gone.

"Of course. I received the new briefing from your Butler only yesterday. Morven, was it? Lalia has the floor plans."

"Remind me. I want to hear you talk."

_How indulgent,_ Lorenz thought. But he was in a good mood.

"I know what sigils to look for, better than you, being on the path to become a Dark Knight. Not that I will be free to explore the chateau in any useful capacity."

"How close are you? To becoming qualified?"

"I have at least two years of study or more, I am afraid. The war has put me far behind."

"I see."

"And how dare you ask me if I know what to _ask_; I am an expert diplomat." He tilted his head back in pride. Claude admired his elegant profile, forgetting he should say something.

"Forgive me of my ignorance, I am a fool." Lorenz grinned at this, pleased to have his ego accommodated.

The polite banter fell away after an hour or so. Claude likewise fell back to watch Lorenz's back sway temptuously in rhythm with his horse for the rest of their journey.

* * *

They passed the days travel and the night at the inn without fanfare, to Claude's dismay. He and Lalia both struggled with Lorenz when it came time to arrange rooms: it was only appropriate, they each insisted, for the men and women to have separate rooms. He refused steadfastly, everyone passing an unsatisfying night of platonic bed-sharing: putting Lalia in a bad mood and making Alvina taciturn for the remainder of the miles to travel until they neared Chateau Benettos. Claude put on his best face, but brooded in solidarity with the maids. 

Still, it was a rare treat to see Lorenz in the early light. They left the inn while the sun was still below the horizon, a thick fog shrouding it's dawn. When it did rise, fully, the haze around them burst into light: Lalia began a sun serenade in Almyran. Though her voice was dull and flat, the journey became delightful once more to watch Alvina fawn over her, and Lorenz smiling contently with her song.

The bright fog that had met them in the morning never did fade, following them many miles into the mid afternoon and settling into a dreary grey overcast.

"Okay Lorenz, this is where I wait." Claude tied his horse to a tree some two miles from the Benettos land.

"I still do not understand why you came all this way in the first place." Lorenz dismounted to stretch before he continued. He passed Thyrsus to Claude; unable to carry it with him, but unwilling to leave it in Derdriu. Lalia took the chance to check all of her concealed weapons once more. "Though I suppose you make a lovely staff holder."

_Oh, I'm lovely now?_ Claude wanted to ask him what he meant by lovely. He settled for berating himself: _its just a manner of speech you horny bastard. _

"As much as I _love_ holding your _staff_-" Claude's ears burned briefly "-Alvina and I are insurance, if you don't come back. I don't have a good reason to go into the chateau with you, or I would; your condolences are a mundane, unsuspicious reason to call on them. But if the Heir of Riegan shows up, they'll know we're up to something."

"Ah, another missing bucket in the well. I suppose your role is the gnawed rope?"

"Well, I prefer to remain un-gnawed."

"Oh? I thought you had a preference for being bitten." Lorenz said it before thinking. His eyes grew wide in shock.

Lalia cleared her throat.

"Huh..." Claude's mouth hung open for just a moment. "You have it backwards... I am the one who does the... _proverbial_ biting- of our enemies." He had never said any such inane thing; it sounded ridiculous, too awkward and lame; but he was determined to twist any suggestive language back toward platonic banter. "We'll be here."

_Any flirting I think he is doing is all in my head_ Claude reminded himself. _But he's so right. Wait no, it _is_ backwards- I like to do the biting. _

While Claude was skirting dangerously close to forbidden daydreams, Lorenz and Lalia departed immediately. When they were out of earshot, Lalia began scolding him.

"Lorenz, you are not to weep and dribble snot all over the furniture if you are to keep setting yourself up for harassment!"

"My attempt to joke simply came out wrong. Do not read so much into it. Men- average friendly men make sexual jokes all the time." _Goddess, I am a fool._ "And do not ever describe me with the words 'dribble' or 'snot'!"

"_He_ clearly read as much into it. When we return, you sort this out."

"He will have forgotten by then. He so politely ignored it. Did you hear him, he sounded like a fool hero from a poorly written novel: 'I do the biting of our enemies.'" Lorenz found himself quite pleased with his dumbfounded expression... and began to understand why Claude was so desperate to tease him.

Lalia made a weird _snrk!_ sound before clearing her throat.

"You're allowed to laugh, Lalia, he is effectively a jester."

"It is a bad habit. I am trained to remain aloof."

"That is quite sad. You should laugh about it when we return home" He joked.

"Yes, Lord Lorenz. Please remind me to do so." She said flatly, amused.

After crossing several fallow fields interspersed with many just harvested, the crown of the chateau began to breach the hill in front of them.

"What an odd construction. It seems to suit their mysterious air, but it has not always been one of their holdings." Lorenz commented.

"No. According to_ Morven's_ sources-" Lalia said it bitterly, irritated that she came up short on her own "-they accrued their wealth in the last three decades, and bought it only then. They were unheard of before that, outside of some registered family rolls."

"It is so strange the Riegans would simply allow it to fall into disrepair."

"The once noble families are dwindling. They cannot trust one another, and cannot manage their holdings alone for long, not without hire... and some are losing the financial means to do so as their crest power wanes."

This made Lorenz pensive. _I have no mother and no siblings. If I die, the main Gloucester line dies with me. all would be relegated to... eugh. Cousins._

"It seems to be similar all around; families sire fewer children in a response to peacetime, and then this war emerges from nowhere. No one maintains a large enough House to expend their children to lead heroic battles anymore... and yet they still fight, and they still die." He considered aloud, recalling all of the singular and adopted heirs at Garreg Mach. Lorenz now felt suddenly very ill of this plan to walk him unarmed into a mysterious and unknown house. "Add to that the rejection of children without crests... I suspect we will see many lines end before this war does."

"Yet House Benettos thrives."

"And with no crest."

"No crest _that we know._" 

They arrived at the front gate, a number of unsettling tines accenting whorls of iron that twisted between thick vertical bars.

"Into the well" Lorenz whispered.

* * *

"The Benettos are not accepting visitors until tomorrow." A placid and broad gate man announced, emerging silently from a side door when they drew nearer to the gate.

"That is unfortunate; we came such a way and I have business to attend in the coming days that will not allow me to return tomorrow. I would certainly prefer not to disturb them, but perhaps they would be willing to accept my condolences? I met with Lord Marco not long before he passed."

"And who are you?" The man's face remained expressionless, but a sneer painted his voice.

Lorenz straightened his back. Formidable in height when standing, from horseback Lorenz was positively domineering. He gathered up his reigns and spurred the horse closer to the man to look down at him.

"Inform them that Lord Lorenz Hellman Gloucester will be attending the wake to offer his prayers." _When the enemy is unknown, confidence is paramount._ In truth, even the gate keeper made Lorenz uneasy, but he could not fail so soon.

"And if I do not?"

"If you so wish to make a fool of yourself and a mockery of your job, you are free to do so. I cannot imagine what fate would befall such and imbecile in House Benettos." He alluded to their reputation, in hopes that it would insist he was somehow already connected to the family. "Is your job truly that complex, gate keep? Perhaps you would do better to mindlessly dig graves." Another veiled threat.

"Spoken like a true nobleman. Do you condescend to all of your lessers that way?"

"If you mean_ commoners_, no. The only _lessers_ I speak to in such a manner are those nobles and noble servants who do not show me civil courtesy. You have no excuse to abandon decorum."

"So commoners are too dull to understand your chastisement?"

"Your accusations are haphazard and baseless; the opinion of a grown man who cannot even receive guests properly is insufficient to shame me. Inform your Lords at once and stop wasting my _time_."

The man stood with his arms by his sides, maintaining an indifferent posture, studying him. Lorenz likewise stared the man down. He was deathly pale, all in black and silver and red. His hair, crimson, was peppered accented with silver as well. Upon closer inspection he seemed... too ostentatious to be a mere gatekeeper.

Lorenz waited, trying to maintain an even expression and hoping his suspicion was not correct.

The 'gatekeeper' spoke at last. His demeanor changed, the air around him seeming now more sinister, cold even.

"You'll do." He said without explanation. The gate began to wrench open behind him. "Welcome to the Chateau Benettos, Lord Gloucester."


	18. Chateau Benettos: Part 2

He was equally dismayed and relieved that he had left Thyrsus behind; it might be the only way he could protect himself, but in the Benettos hands it could wreak terrible havoc. He was however entirely distressed that he never could procure a formal invitation; the House had not made it known that they even lost a son. If they asked, he would simply have to relent that his own spies brought him the information... which did give him the opportunity to seem as though he wielded more power than he actually had.

The 'gatekeeper,' who Lorenz suspected may be an integral member of the family, led him a half mile on horseback. It was silent. Lalia rode beside Lorenz, slightly ahead, rather than the usual maids position: slightly behind. She was prepared for offensive action.

There were carriages situated in front of the stables, the stables themselves teeming._ Just how many people have gathered? A bucket in a well? No, a mouse in a viper pit._ Everything was in blackwash, crimson, silver or stark red. The Benettos seemed to have as little taste for gardening as they did for bright colors; the plants preceding the chateau were austere, dark evergreens and thorny leaves. The gate keep disappeared into the stables and did not return. The fog grew thicker.

Everyone coming to and from the stables, entering the chateau, and even the servants were both red haired and red eyed. Most of them were not more than fifteen years his senior. He realized suddenly why they put him ill at ease:

_They look like Monica._ He shuddered.

_Her last name was not Benettos... No, it would not be; she was from the Empire. An uncanny coincidence... unless she is from the branching family._

He no longer cared what information he might find. He would offer his prayers, avoid conversation, and leave immediately. He was sure he would find no protest from Lalia. To leave now would arouse suspicion, especially after the stir he had caused at the gate... if Lalia _could_ offer him a polite excuse to leave _now_, he would take it; but she remained stone faced, as she did when considering an insurmountable obstacle.

They were the only color in the courtyard, the only outsiders in a sea of red. The dull pain returned behind Lorenz's eyes. _Red sea. Red wall_. Their horses were taken silently. They were directed not with words, but with gestures of the hand by myriad pallid servants who had their mouths covered. Lorenz and Lalia fell into a procession into what he could only assume would be the viewing of the casket. _The air is wrong. Wakes, funerals are not mean to have such mounting tension. There is no comforting here._

The line pushed through a doorway, wherein it dispersed into an open ballroom. The casket was set upon a dais in the center of the room, smothered in red lycoris and white roses. It could be approached from one side where the flowers parted, a new line forming behind this gap.

Lorenz pulled Lalia to the side.

"We make our prayers in front of the casket, and then we leave." He whispered frantically, the pain pushing in behind his eyes spreading through his head.

"Agreed. There is something wrong here. You are in pain?"

"Headache. The smell." The fragrance of the flowers dominated the room, but it masked something indistinct; something nasty. _Likely a weeks old corpse, but I should think they would know how to remedy such a smell. It must be something else..._

They gathered in the long line. Lorenz waited to hear weeping, to hear prayers or lament, but only the footsteps on the black marble broke the deafening quiet. Thirty minutes passed before they were able to approach the casket. Fortunately, it was closed. The room became still. Lorenz dare not look around, but he felt the red eyes bearing down on him: outsider. Not family. He bowed his head in mock prayer, but spent his time begging the Goddess to take the pain echoing between his ears, to let them leave unharmed.

With her head bowed likewise, Lalia breathed between her hands.

"Look down... on the dais..."

He looked between his feet. The edge of the step was encircled with dark sigils; too many masked by flowers and shadow to determine their use. He returned his gaze to the casket to examine it further: faint, painted under the lacquer, were more signs. _Black magic... something about new life... That does not make any sense. _That the signs of magic would be open for all to see, that he was let into the chateau to witness them at all made him feel as though he and Lalia were not let in reluctantly, but lured in deliberately.

_Wait... that symbol is strange, but I've seen it... No..._ It was one he had only seen flaring in the air ahead of Edelgard's own dark mages, unique to their distinctly cruel magic. He was unsure, but it generally accompanied spells whose intent was ripping, tearing. What it meant here was unclear, but he had no shortage of gruesome images of people torn in half. Blood made froth by the violent motion. _Red._

"Urp!" He clutched his mouth, closing his eyes tightly. He managed to remain for another minute, Lalia bracing him. Soonest he could move without throwing up on the revered dead, he took her softly by the elbow to urge her to the exit.

A young woman, his age or less, crossed into their path. She was voluptuous, scantily dressed, with long curly hair.

"Lord Gloucester. I want to thank you for coming to offer prayers to my brother."

"Certainly..." His head pounded, his vision reddened around the edges, but courtesy came to him instinctively: especially in cases where his life may depend on it. "it- it is my duty and my honor to commend such a man to the Goddess's care. He- ugh... served House Gloucester well until he defected, and he then yet served the people of Gloucester until his death. A noble display... Miss...?"

"Lady Franziska Benettos. You have such a thoughtful and kind manner of praise, I would love to speak with you at length. Are you intent on departing so soon?"

"Unfortunately, I am most unwell. If you will pardon my rudeness."

"Not at all, you must stay for the commending. My Grandfather, Lord Adalius is quite the orator. I assure you, if your respect for Marco was generous enough to come all this way, you would not want to miss the bestowal."

"Bestowal?"

"It is a funeral rite practiced within our family; few outsiders have seen it. If you are unwell, you may lean on me." The woman threaded her arm around Lorenz's almost possessively, pulling him close. Lalia tensed, moving a hand to her waist where several daggers were tucked under her bodice. She held position.

"If you insist, it must be a sight to behold. You have my gratitude for bringing this ceremony to my attention." She was too attractive, he noted, an obvious trap. He could not care; he was liable to puke allover her ample cleavage and split his head against the marble floor in fainting. He pressed himself into the wall to avoid such an incident. The symbols from the casket continued to burn into his mind. Lalia offered an out.

"My Lord, we must not be late for our meeting in the evening. We have already overstayed-"

"Look, it's beginning- " Lady Franziska interrupted. She pulled on Lorenz slightly, believing that pressing her breasts against his arm was some lure, a distraction from Lalia. In his compromised state, he could only look down at her with clear disgust and some variant of pity, before turning his aching eyes back toward the dais. He heard her click her tongue in offense, but she did not let go.

The line had dissipated, a single weeping woman now standing above the casket: black haired, a mole beneath her left eye. _That's her, the maid Claude described... She... she was in Gloucester. I remember her._

The suspect 'gatekeeper,' presumably Lord Adalius, emerged on a stage that rose above the dais on the opposite side of the room. He began to speak.

"Family. Brothers, Sisters. Cousins." He looked directly at Lorenz, hidden as we was in a sort of alcove. "Friends. I must thank you all for coming to witness the last rite of Lord Marco Benettos. He has served our family so well in life, and now he will bestow one last gift before we send him home to the stars. Behold, his late fiancee; she weeps with the sincerity of true love cut so short. Miss Roselyn has waited on Marco faithfully, only for a cruel twist of fate to bring his body home, but without his soul or his warmth. We welcome her into our family regardless, and bless her with Marco's last wish."

The maid opened the casket. Her face twisted again in anguish as she looked on what could only be a face disfigured by weeks of death. Lorenz's gut turned at the thought.

Lord Adalius began chanting. Lorenz went rigid, sidling back toward Lalia. He presumed that, surrounded by family members, standing nearer the exit, with no attention directed to him, that he was not the target._ It is just a funeral rite, Lorenz, no need to panic. People have many strange practices, that does not make them dangerous._ His skin crawled nonetheless, and Lalia seized his other arm. The magic felt _wrong_.

A blue light cut through the rose and lycoris, rising up from the sigils that circled the dais. It was shocking against the dark marble of the hall. A red glow emanated from the casket, forming a shape in the air. The Maid Roselyn stretched her right hand out toward it.

"Lorenz... is that-"

"... the Crest of Timothos."

"What is happening?" Lalia whispered, allowing fear to paint her voice.

The Crest disappeared, descending on the woman. Her hair and eyes took the shade of the Benettos, both crimson.

"Did she- the crest... they took his crest and gave it to her?"

The ceremony ended as two masked servants collected the woman and led her from the room. Another ascended to close the casket. 

"It is always most beautiful when a Crest passed between Lovers. Will you be staying to dine, Lord Gloucester?" Lady Franziska inquired.

He could not voice his words for a moment. So casually did she speak of the transfer of a crest; like it was common practice and not one of the great unknowns that scholars had been studying for centuries.

"Unfortunately, I cannot stay... I am expected back in Derdriu this evening. And I fear my condition has worsened." She ignored his look of shock and his lack of color. Only the urge to vomit had abated slightly.

"Ah. I understand now. You have someone waiting for you. Reinforcements, perhaps?"

"A friend who wished to keep me company, but knew it would be inappropriate to present himself." He deflected carefully._ Reinforcements? Why would she implicate her family?_

"We would have graciously accepted condolences from anyone... especially from... say... The Riegan Heir."

Everything in Lorenz demanded he flee. Abandon this investigation and run to Claude, in hopes that he was still there and not... _Dear Goddess, if they have found him._ He could feel the blood further draining from his face.

"We had our own spy carry the information to Lord Claude directly; so that he would come himself." The woman smirked at Lorenz's loss of words as she spoke openly about espionage, while leading him by the arm to a side room. "But we are most pleased he sent a such valuable puppet. One who could so easily exceed him, given the support."

"...Since you are so generous in detailing your mechanations, perhaps you can share with me what your family's intentions are?" Lalia gathered close behind him.

"To talk; to make alliances. To make offers. We have much to give, and are not aligned with the Empire in the slightest. Though our ways may put you ill at ease, our goals are not dissimilar." She smiled gracefully, as though her words were not vaguely threatening. She looked toward Lalia. "No need to be frightened, Miss Maid. Neither of you have angered us as of yet."

"... Would you let us leave, should we choose?"

"You are free to go, of course. But do you not want to know our designs? That_ is_ why you came." Lalia pulled on his arm signalling for him to seize the opportunity to escape; he wanted to follow. But so far, they had come to no harm. Their power was disturbing, but their hospitality was nearly without fault.

"...What does it cost?"

"Time. Information is free. It is what you do with it that interests my grandfather."

_We have come so far, displaying even greater cowardice now would only give them an upper hand._ _But no- I'm on the verge of collapsing. The red... I hate it. I hate this family and their filthy magic._

"I must beg your pardon, please apologize to your grandfather for me. I am truly, very ill. Food poisoning. I would arrange to speak with him at a later time. Will he be at the Roundtable in two weeks?"

"Of course. Though be warned, he _will_ be displeased that you could not extend condolences personally." Her voice became dire.

"I would- I will, in time. But I wish not to trouble him with my illness. It would be a shame to soil such a lovely chateau. We truly must be going." Surely she could see the sweat pouring down his face, but she made it clear it was no concern of hers.

"It is your fate, then. I will tell him to come to you after the Roundtable."

"T-thank you, graciously. Lovely to meet you, Lady Franziska." 

* * *

After throwing up in their stables, Lorenz rode from Chateau Benettos at a gallop as soon as he was out of it's view. A cold sweat ran down him, aided by the unseasonably chilly fog. _The seventh month has never been so damn cold. What kind of House- What kind of people share their secrets so freely? Only people who fear nothing._

"Lorenz, slow down! There are ruts approaching." He did as Lalia commanded, mindlessly slowing to a trot. She caught up to him. "You have to calm down. You're panicking."

"They know Claude is here- he an Alvina are alone- what if they-"

"We won't know any sooner if your horse breaks his ankle and we resort to walking." She took the lead. "Keep my pace." Even as her tone was steady, he could hear her unease.

The minutes stretched like hours; two miles should not take so long, but the fog was still heavy, and Lorenz could not recall the landscape. He wouldn't know when they were approaching the place where they had parted, relying on Lalia's skill to guide him.

A knicker emanated from ahead: one of the horses. Lorenz trotted ahead.

"Claude?!"

"Lorenz!" He shouted. "Back so soon?" Lorenz spurred the horse forward; suddenly in the road, Alvina signalling them.

"Alvina!"

"This way My Lord." She held her hand out for the reigns, leading his reluctant horse back to where they were waiting, Lalia close behind. Claude emerged from the fog as suddenly as Alvina had; Lorenz made to dismount frantically.

"Lorenz, wait." Lalia called to him. She brought her horse closer to him to whisper in his ear. "We don't know what the Benettos are capable of. Ask Lord Claude something only he would know."

At first confused, he realized if they could create such fog, they could perhaps cast illusions.

"Claude... what..." Lorenz could conjure very little they had shared alone together that was not embarrassing in mixed company. "What flowers were you looking for when you snuck into Lady Rhea's private garden?" He looked at Lorenz with amused confusion, but was happy to reflect on good memories.

"I was hoping to find violets... buuut I found one in the gazebo of the student garden instead." He winked. His mood did not match the thoughts that haunted Lorenz. When his face remained blank, Claude became serious.

"Lorenz, what happened?" He dismounted from his horse while Lalia questioned Alvina likewise.

"Did anything happen here? Have you seen anyone?" Lorenz grabbed Claude's shoulders, searching the fog around around them; it _was_ unnatural, likely how the mage family kept a watch on visitors.

"No. Lorenz are you alright-"

Lorenz grabbed him, pulling him into an embrace. Claude could feel his heart beating wildly in panic. When he pulled away, Lorenz did not even have it in him to blush. He was drained of all color, wide eyed.

"We are leaving. I will explain when we emerge from this overcast." He took Thyrsus. They mounted quickly. Claude continued to try and ask questions, only to be told 'not yet'. When they cleared the fog, Lorenz finally regained some semblance of life in his face.

"We should not pry into House Benettos until we have more allies. They are not empire aligned, but they do use similar magic. They are perhaps far more dangerous for their proximity alone." He was exasperated. He continued to trot his horse quickly, despite being far and away from the Chateau "All of the intel you gained was fed to you. Some butler in your house is one of theirs. Their network is extensive, because they offer something no other House can."

"What is that?"

"Crest Power. They can give crests from corpses- I do not know how. They gave your defected maid the Crest of Timothos from the late Lord Marco Benettos. It must be how they are advancing their house." He was speaking rapidly, as if speaking aloud of the incident would allow him to forget it.

"Lorenz, this is too much- wait, the Crest of Timothos is deprecated- it doesn't exist." Claude darkened; a rare departure from his amiable charade. He too urged his horse move a little faster.

"The crest of flames did not exist, either." Lorenz reminded him. They rode for some time in thoughtful silence.

"We were so _stupid_." Lorenz whispered.

* * *

The journey back to Derdriu calmed Lorenz's nerves very little; he would never truly return to peace knowing such monsters had been slumbering nearby, biding their time... and that they had an interest in the Alliance; in Claude; in _him_. 

_Blood magic... corpse magic. How did they go unnoticed for so long?_

Claude stayed at Gloucester Hall for the night on their return from Chateau Benettos, concerned that the Benettos butler may still be lurking in the Riegan Estate. Any compromised spy would vanish, but Lorenz never did learn his name. He began to curse his cowardice, his illness; if he could have extracted more information from them, they may both remain somewhat safer. Claude would have their entire Estate scoured for traps, for poison, and have each of the staff interrogated painstakingly, regardless, but Lorenz felt it to be a personal failing. 

Claude refused to leave his bedroom that evening until Lorenz recounted it all in detail. 

"You got sick because you saw a sigil?"

"Sick, yes, but panicked is more like. I have only seen it used for violent offense."

"Is it like... when you fainted at the Goneril's Estate?" Nothing surprised Lorenz anymore; he did not maintain the energy to feel betrayed that Hilda had told Claude about his fainting.

"Yes. It seems dwelling too deeply on the fighting that took place there sends me into... into... a sort of fit."

"Someone- Lalia should sleep in here with you tonight. Just in case you get sick again." Claude bit his lip, struggling not to offer himself. He slid his chair closer to the bed where Lorenz was hunched over. "Can I stay until you fall asleep?"

"Do whatever you like."

"Will it help?"

"I do not know."

* * *

Lorenz woke the next morning to find Claude propped upright in the chair, asleep. When roused, he made his way to the maids quarters and dismissed Alvina to the Riegan Estate for reconnaissance. Claude, Lorenz and Lalia then gathered in the kitchen to regroup over breakfast.

"So. We made a mistake." Claude started, a false pep in his voice.

"An understatement." Lorenz corrected morosely.

"I don't think... I know a strong enough word for what happened. But horrifying information is still knowledge. We're better off now than we were twenty four hours ago."_  
_

Lalia remained silent in disagreement.

"I think not. We've made our interest in their House known, and they are invested in you and I both. You should be beyond cautious." Lorenz lay his head on the table. "I have to meet with that man in the Council Hall when the Roundtable convenes."

"You didn't tell me that. Why?"

"I have to offer my condolences directly, considering my flight from the wake and our bizarre exchange when I thought he was the gate keeper. They seem to want to make some sort of deal."

"All total... don't get me wrong, what they did was pretty messed up: but are they really doing anything evil?"

"That remains to be seen. I can find no technical breach of ethics in using a crest from a dead man, but it just seems nasty. Like reusing a secondhand soul. Crests are a part of us. We should not add to or take away from that power."

"Huh. I've never thought about it like that. If nothing else, I want to know what _they_ know about the House that split into the Empire, if they really do all look like Monica."

"They would be a powerful ally against Edelgard's own dark mages, but what are we willing to sacrifice for such a gain? I refuse to be like her... to be so intently dismissive of such evil."

"I agree. We can't use them if they are of the same mindset. But then we can't tolerate them either." Claude went silent. "I think I may have to tell the Duke about this one."

"Will it do any good? What power does he have against blood mages? Making him aware might only drag him into their plans."

"...you're right. We're in this alone." Claude was embarrassed to have defaulted to relying on the Duke; it was the tactic of a frightened child. 

He found himself absently stroking Lorenz's shoulder, before reminding himself that such gestures were unwelcome, and made to pull his hand away.

Lorenz seized his hand, holding tightly.

"I do not..." he mumbled, face down into the table "...I do not like their hair, their affection for red and crimson. It reminds me of the Empire. The soldiers, and all of the fighting. It was not _just_ the bad sigil."

"Lorenz... I'm so sorry. I should have never sent you there."

"I have a headache." 


	19. The Hospitality of House Riegan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-18-2020

Two days passed with little word from Claude before he arrived at Gloucester Hall unannounced: a new precaution. They were all still reeling from the incident at the Chateau, agreeing to take some time to rest. Lalia and Claude had an unspoken understanding: this was for Lorenz's well being.

"I've sorted out the Estate. Two butlers and three maids were missing, leaving behind a letter from the Benettos detailing their withdrawal as 'a gesture of goodwill to facilitate future talks.' But I highly doubt that's all of them."

He was visibly disturbed to know not one, but five in the massive Riegan Estate's employ were Benettos-loyal. There was no way to vet a double-agent; if they had been as much, it would have been expected, accounted for in some measure. But these were not; they were field agents; people who gathered intel on other houses for him intermittently, only living in House Riegen in between.

The Benettos had allowed their spies to work fully in Claude's interests to disrupt any suspicion. And they were _good_. The five he lost would cripple his efforts.

"Strangely, Morven- the butler who briefed us on the Benettos- was not one of them. He collected the information seeded by the other five in the house, with the information from the general public, and consolidated it. But I have no reason to believe he is involved." Claude continued. "But that's not really why I'm here."

"Then to what do we owe the pleasure of you visit, Lord Riegan?" Lorenz was speaking overly formal, a sign of his fatigue. He followed the graceful inquiry with and equally graceful yawn.

"The next official Roundtable is in two weeks. Do you have any indication that your father is coming?"

"He has not attended any official meetings for the past six months in due consideration of the occupation, and has wholly ignored the supplementary meetings. However, I am sure my absence has unsettled the Empire General stationed in Gloucester. I am almost certain he will arrive in Derdriu within the next week."

"So you will be vacating Gloucester Hall."

"I do not believe my father would cause me any harm here in Derdriu, and it would be presumptuous of him to bring any Empire-"

"Lorenz. You aren't staying here." Claude commanded. Lalia arrived just in time to announce that she had packed Lorenz's things.

"Packed my things? This is ridiculous."

"I just received word, My Lord. He has been seen travelling. We are leaving."

"We are missing an opportunity. If I were to stay here, I could gather information, perhaps speak with him. Here in Derdriu he can speak more freely- he may even be able to aid us."

"He could just as easily feed you false information, or 'put you out of the way' for good like he originally planned. The risk outweighs the already negligible advantages."

"Still-"

"No."

Lorenz huffed in irritation, but relented. His fatigue only highlighted his frustration, his tired eyes matching his now foul mood.

"Fine. But we must revisit this idea in the future when we are better prepared. You cannot ignore that there is a chance my father is not wholly evil. I may have panicked some weeks ago, but in hindsight I can see how a rational nobleman would take his course of action."

"Letting the Empire decimate your people is a rational course of action? Planning to kill your son?"

"No; he ceded territory when our own troops were exhausted, just before the empire was to attack our primary farmlands. It was the people who rose up anyway despite my father's commands to stand down the the Empire..." A sharp pain seized him behind the eyes, briefly "...That the Empire quelled... He... No, even our own knights and soldiers defected to protect them; you do not maintain such chivalrous loyalties while yourself being wicked."

He paused before broaching the next accusation.

"... I believe that there was a misunderstanding of his words, or perhaps he was buying time or feigning loyalty. My father would not kill me."

"I see." Claude said bitterly. "Lalia, what is your opinion on the Count?"

"He is spineless, but given the right support and guaranteed protection of life, may actually be capable of committing acts of justice when absolutely convenient."

"Scathing." Claude's eyebrows raised. "That's the kind of unbiased assessment I want."

"I think you give him too _little_ credit; he is more enigmatic than that- Remember, he managed to educate me in my own standard of ethics." Lorenz countered, rubbing his temple.

"Your ethics have much improved since the Officers Academy. More credit is due to your own experiences." Claude commended him. "But don't let that go to your head."

"A man will raise his sons to be a better version of himself while remaining unable to change his own nature. He is an inborn coward who looks down on commoners and nobles alike. I watched you grow up Lorenz; you derived much of your own opinions from books." Lalia added.

"I must say, I do not know how to respond to such compliments. Perhaps by trusting your own intuitions." Lorenz was loathe to leave his library, his bed, and his privacy. The late summer roses coming in. He had to concede to them; his opinions were unchanged, but he would accommodate their concerns. "So where will I reside while father is in residence here?"

"Where else? House Riegan." Claude offered. Lorenz ignored this solution pointedly.

"Lalia, arrange our stay at an inn."

"It would not be prudent to stay in such mixed company My Lord."

"The Goneril Estate?"

"Inappropriate."

"Lorenz, look. You slept there a week or so ago: the bed was spectacular, I left you alone, you had your every need met. There's no shortage of accommodation. Please."

"You were exceptionally exhausted last time we met. Perhaps you won't be able to maintain that coolness since you have rebounded."

"Nonsense. I have complete control over my impulses... I just chose not to in the past. But this is more important. And I'm done with that."

The key to Claude's room weighed heavy in his pocket.

"...If I must."

* * *

"Lalia, as a thank you gift to House Riegan, I want to take a bottle of wine for the Duke."

"Which one My Lord?"

"...Well Gloucester is the finest, but it would be pretentious to offer, I am sure. The Hresvelg after that: equally inappropriate. Actually, we should throw out the Hresvelg Tea as well. Any two bottles that are not produced by Empire houses or by our own; I cannot recall just now what is in the cellar here. A red. And a Gloucester Rosé."

"Two?"

"The Rosé is for me. To aid with sleep."

"Of course." She went in to the Hall on last time, returning with two exquisite bottles. Lorenz slipped them into the little remaining space in his saddlebag.

"RRRRRRRREEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!"

"Lorenz! C'mere!" Claude called from the front walk. For a moment, he considered ignoring the crude beckon... but it was best to seize the opportunity to berate Claude.

"Do not beckon me like a dog." Lorenz instructed as he rounded the corner: just in time to see a Wyvern whacking it's tail across the new roses.

"Lord Gloucester, please direct your attention to me." Claude bowed dramatically.

"A marked improvement, but your steed is destroying my garden."

"Meet Alev! Lalia and Alvina can take the horses. We can take my wyvern." He made no move to stop _Alev_ from his enthusiastic destruction.

"Most certainly not."

"At least get to know him."

"A unnecessary venture."

"You know how, don't you?"

"Of course." Lorenz had no choice now, Claude would not let it go. He lifted his chin up, marching straight to the creature: wyverns did not tolerate fear, preferring direct approach. However appropriate Lorenz's demeanor, Alev did not take to him. His pupils contracted and clicking sound rose in it's throat.

"Wait, Lorenz, stop!"

He did so, but avoided backpedaling.

"Odd. I've never had problems with a wyvern. It has been some time... did I do anything wrong?"

"Nope. Huh. Maybe he knows you use magic?" Claude drew closer, taking Lorenz by the shoulders to walk him back.

"That is not how it works. They only react to the active casting of magic."

Intolerant to magic, wyverns were wary of mages and tomes to the point of violent defense when casting. _But perhaps... Thyrsus. _It occured to Lorenz that Thyrsus was not only enchanted, but perhaps perpetually activated as an effect of it's divinity.

"Claude, take Thyrsus from me." _This staff stores tremendous amount of magic like no other staff I have handled. _

Claude unlatched the staff, pulling it away. Alev remained fixated on it, as expected. Lorenz marched toward Alev once more; the wyvern turned back from the staff and made a trilling sound, a sign of curiosity, bumping Lorenz hard in the head with his nose.

"Agh! That hurts you big brute." Lorenz patted him hard between the nostrils. "Not unlike a scaly horse. We have made our introductions, may we depart now?"

"Yep! Lalia-" Claude tossed Thyrsus to her; she was surprised, but caught it expertly. "We'll meet you at the Riegan Estate."

"Yes Lord Riegan."

"Claude, no."

"Lorenz, yes. I already told the Duke you're coming for dinner, and we're already late."

"That is your failing, not mine." Lorenz turned to find Lalia already leading his horse away, distracted flirting with Alvina.

"Let's go Lorenz." Claude stooped beside Alev to make a step of his knee. He patted a couple of times (again teasing him like a trained pet) then held his hand up as a sort of support. Using Claude as a step would be too gratifying, and Lalia was already out of the gate. There was no choice.

"Hmph. I warn you; I know nothing of riding wyverns. If I fall to my early demise, it is on your head entirely."

"If I'm flying that badly, we're being attacked."

"Let us hope the skies between here and Riegan Estate are not so treacherous." He stepped lightly on Claude's knee, pulling himself onto the wyvern.

"Sccrreaaa!" He protested, as Lorenz sat awkwardly and began sliding backward.

"Haha, you weren't kidding." Claude mounted in front of him in a single fluid motion. the wyvern began to flutter, ready to take of with his master in position. "Hold on to me."

"A convenient excuse." Lorenz complained over his head, drawing his arms up under Claude's. He would have a clear view if his coarse hair was not sticking out in every direction. _He should do something about that. _

Absent of his senses, his lack of sleep accommodating his impulses, Lorenz leaned in and inhaled.

"Lorenz" Claude exhorted "I wasn't aware indulgently taking in the scent of someone's hair was something friends and allies do."

"I was trying to take a deep breath to brace myself for the flight and you leaned back into me. Mind your head and your hair."

"Oh, of _course_, My Lord." Claude smiled to conceal a mix of longing and irritation while he strapped his legs into the saddle. _An outright and terrible liar. If he keeps up with grabbing my hands and holding me and _sniffing_ me of all things, the deal is off. This is cruel and unusual punishment- This is beyond sadistic- Its-_

"RRRRRRRRRRREEEGGGHHH!"

"Yes yes, let's go Alev!" Claude gave the reins a gentle whip. Alev began batting his wings, clearing Gloucester Hall's yard of debris in the whirlwind, forcing Lorenz to squeeze his eyes shut. There was a jolt as the wyvern sprung from its position to touch on the high estate wall, rebounding off of the Hall's rooftop and taking to flight.

_Oh no._ Lorenz began to panic. _Oh my, no, it has been years since I have flown, and it was never this high. Or with this rogue fool. A mistake to end all mistakes has been made. I am going to die up here._ He could feel wind pressure cutting in around them, the unobstructed air bearing on them from all directions as they cleared the buildings of the city. Against his better judgement, he opened one eye tentatively.

He shut it quickly.

"Clauuuuude! L-_Lower?!_" He ears were popping painfully, the rapid ascent a shock to his senses.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOPE!" Claude responded, giddy. "We're not even half way up!"

It only now occurred to Lorenz that Claude strapped his own legs in, but only the strength of Lorenz's own shaky arms was keeping him from falling to oblivion. He wrapped his arms more fully around Claude and planted his chin into his shoulder; the only means he had of securing himself. His legs braced against the saddle, but he had no stirrups of his own.

_This Is The Same reason I Do Not Ride Partner On A Horse, And I Thought ItWouldBeFineOnAWyvernWhatWas I Thinking To Indulge This SortOfMadnessI Am Not ReadyToDie I CouldHave Just Stayed InGloucesterIf I WantedAnEarlyEnd-_

The beating stopped after ten minutes or so, as Alev reached a steady current and began to glide. Claude looped the rein around his left arm, and yanked on Lorenz's hair to make him look. Lorenz squinted against the wind, following Claude's arm with his eyes to where he pointed below. They had long passed Lalia and Alvina, circling around to bring them into view for the moment. They were insignificant beneath them. Claude wrapped his free arm around one of Lorenz's.

"I've got you, lean back a little!" Lorenz shook his head 'no' into Claude's collarbone. Naturally, he shoved Lorenz back with his shoulders; his head whipping back with the force, Lorenz was made to look straight up into the sky. Claude still had him by the arm.

"Look! There's the Estate!" Lorenz managed to turn his head from side to side momentarily, seeing what seemed like a tiny house ahead of them, then crammed his body back against Claude. "What do you think?!"

"Bad- Bad height!" He yelled back stupidly.

"Ahahahah! You're breaking my ribs!"

The rest of the journey was spent with Claude ever-loosening Lorenz's arms when he began to squeeze the air from his lungs, laughing at him each time. The journey from Derdriu to the Riegan estate that might take an hour and a half meandering by horseback was no more than thirty minutes on a straight path.

_Thirty long, cold, miserable minutes of careening through nothingness at the mercy of a giant lizard._

The ride was uneventful, but Lorenz never let down his guard. Landing was the worst part. Alev had relaxed into the wind to carry them smoothly for most of the journey; now his muscles tensed up and began working in what seemed disjointed tandem to guide his massive body into the massive wyvern perches extending from the Wyviary. It was a maneuver that jerked both Claude and Lorenz back and forth.

The tumult came to an abrupt halt as Alev settled onto the tower fully.

"You can let go now, horse-boy." Claude jeered, trying to squirm free of Lorenz's grip but really quite enjoying it. "When did you learn to handle a Wyvern?"

"W-when I was... fourteen. I was never taught to ride entirely; House Gloucester has always favored horses." Lorenz moved his arms stiffly. He began to slide off and resumed squeezing Claude's shoulders. "Get me d o w n."

After careful shifting, supporting, and with the help of two stable hands, they managed to get Lorenz down from Alev. The wyvern bumped him again in the back of the head.

"Ah, thank you Alev." Lorenz muttered.

"You should learn to fly. You could be a Wyvern Knight with your lance skills."

"Too limiting. With magic at my disposal, flying a wyvern would be a handicap. Horses are heartier." His muscles jittered to relieve the tension of gripping so fervently.

"There are other breeds that aren't sensitive to it... in other countries."

"Well until there are such wyverns _here_, it does me no good."

"You'll have to get over your fear of heights first."

"It was not precisely the height." He shook his arms out. "It was mostly the lack of control. I would rather rein my own steed a_nd be strapped in properly_ than to cling for dear life to someone who thinks it is the height of comedy to buck me off."

"Come on, the saddle is really just decoration. I usually ride without one."

"Never mind that. I am your guest now, conduct me to dinner. I need seven pillows and I require five spice tea before I take sleep."

"Yeah, maybe we can do that for you princess, I'm not your maid." Claude waved him off.

"It was a joke, I was joking."

"Ohhh.... Yeah, that only works for people who aren't already so high maintenance and pretentious."

"Claude von Riegan, I may be high maintenance, but pretentious is the _last_ word that describes me-"

"Ahaha! Oh, that one's good, that was a good joke."

"That was not part of it."

"Ahhhh sure. This way, my _liege_."

"Aha, you are a_ funny_ man as well."

* * *

"So Lorenz, I hear that you and your father have created a schism in House Gloucester. If ever you make designs to replace him-" The Duke questioned Lorenz immediately after the appetizer, holding back nothing.

"That's not why he's here, Grandpa; we're having dinner. Don't make it serious."

"No Claude, I do not mind in the slightest. As a guest, it is naturally the concern of the Head of Household where my loyalties lie. I would not want to be considered a liability to the Duke." He redirected his attention to the Duke himself. "A schism would insinuate that I hold any of the remaining power of House Gloucester, but at the time all of that power is concentrated for the Empire, and in the bank vaults." He took a sip of water, taking a moment to consider how much he should tell the Duke. "... I have no plans to replace him until his natural death."

"A pity." The Duke returned. "It would do well to have someone less narcissistic on the Council. Someone with their heart in the right place." The Duke tested Lorenz. Claude suddenly wished he had used his brain instead of his head: if he wasn't hoping for some unlikely tryst, he would have put Lorenz up at Riegan Hall in the City. Now the Duke had him cornered.

Claude held his breath as Lorenz inhaled deeply at the suggestion he should kill his father; that he would be _unscrupulous_ enough, coward enough to do so. That he would insinuate Lorenz might be a pawn for the Duke, his heart in the right place meaning young and naive enough to follow a lead. But he only smiled. 

"It would seem that my father and I maintain different ideals, yes, but the same goals: the safety of those commoners that call Gloucester home. The Empire's occupation happened so quickly, we never did sit down to discuss the nuances of our differing viewpoints. I came to Derdriu defensively, ahead of any potential threats the Empire might pose on my life or my ability. I came only to aid the Leicester Alliance, away from any peril."

"Impressive. the way Claude described it to me, I believed you were simply fleeing in cowardice."

"That's_ not_ what I said." Claude looked from the Duke to Lorenz.

"No, you made quite the glowing appraisal of your 'friend;' it is what I gathered of my own suspicions; knowing the sort of man Count Gloucester has made of himself. I hope the day never comes where the same may be said about you behind your back, Lorenz." Maids emerged from behind heavy draperies that led into the kitchens, placing the evening's entree in front of each of them. Lorenz was losing his patience. 

"My father is in a uniquely difficult position." 

"So it appears." The Duke responded without confidence. He was wiser than to argue with a proud and noble youth about his parentage; he was satisfied enough with the accusations already made.

"He's here helping me, that's all you need to concern yourself with." Claude tried to take back control of the conversation.

"Ah yes, my concerns also involve you. I believe I told you to stop colluding with the Gloucester boy, and you inform me he is coming for dinner some weeks later. How do such blatant defiance of my requests continue to occur?"

"Well- It's just that-" The Duke cut him off, turning to Lorenz in apology: none of it sincere.

"Not that I would wish you out into the streets, if you can be a valuable ally. I welcome you into the Riegan Estate if you have such a dire need. You must understand that such a disagreement is between Claude and I concerning the appropriate hierarchy of respect within a family." The smile that now spread across Lorenz's face was genuine, greatly restrained; he was glowing with a smug aura.

"I understand nothing better than proper respect and due recourse. Please do not think I take offense. Continue your reprimand; I will be the _last_ to protest that he is undeserving of such lectures."

"Well put. I like you more than I expected." He leaned over to Claude. "An ally that can size you up so accurately and bring you back down to earth will always keep you balanced."

"Yep. He's _great_." Claude pushed his food around his plate.

"I have been told that I matured with my education under Professor Byleth at the Officer's Academy. I only hope to continue learning from great leaders such as yourself." Lorenz continued. The Duke leaned closer to Claude as Lorenz became distracted with his entree.

"His bootlicking is a bit too on the nose, though" He advised in a whisper. Claude choked on his food for a moment, amused. "Still you should learn from him: you continuously fail to handle the more arrogant Lords. He's just their type. Adapt his feigned humility and overly accommodating language to your own needs."

"What was that horrendous sound, Claude? Are you choking?" Lorenz asked, not privy to the Duke's whispering.

"I'm_ fine_." He returned to his aside with the Duke. "I don't want to talk like that, that's not me."

"If you keep him around, you will begin to do so naturally; you'll observe when it works and when it doesn't and weave it into your dealings when you need to... If you'll just pay attention, and stop being stubborn. You could use a touch more of eloquence."

The rest of dinner passed with lighter conversation, the Duke and Lorenz speaking the most: trading more barbs but eventually settling into an easy back and forth. The weather; the state of trade; marriageable ladies. They all avoided war or politics when the conversation steered toward it. Lalia let herself into the dining room silently after the conversation had died down, with a package in her hand.

Claude looked at the Duke to gauge his reaction; Lalia stood out wherever she went. He observed her without a change in demeanor... too little reaction, making no comment as she leaned down to whisper in Lorenz's ear and offer him the package. She left through the maids curtain as swiftly as she came.

"Duke, as a thank you for your hospitality, I have brought you one of Gloucester Hall's finest wines." Lorenz rose from his seat to bring the bottle to the Duke directly.

"I graciously accept, but I assure you it is no trouble. I assume you will be here for the duration of your Father's stay?"

"Unfortunately, I have no other options available to me. I am in your debt." Lorenz bowed politely.

"Make yourself at home. For now."


	20. The Deer Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-18-2020  
Change Dismaea's name to Dina because it was Too Much.

After the awkward dinner, Claude led Lorenz to a sitting room nearer the back of the estate. He tried to keep track of the back corridors, the turns, the stairwells. In places the Estate seemed modern: all black wood and wallpaper, recent paintings and fresh flowers. In others the ancient base that the house was built upon could be seen in the form of stone stairwells adorned only with threadbare carpets that were forgotten.

The sitting room they arrived at was a perfect evening room, bright white and cream with more dark wood, plush sage green couches for lulling oneself into evening repose. It looked over a north facing garden, where you could watch the night overtake the dark from east to west. Trophies of some sort lined a built in wall shelf, which framed a painting of an ugly prize horse.

A maid followed shortly after they had seated themselves, presenting tea and three cups.

"Is someone joining us?" Inquired Lorenz. He assumed Lalia was fraternizing with the staff; if she was not, four cups would have been brought: Alvina had latched onto her like a loyal puppy.

"Nope. Being enthusiastically versed in the horrible effects of various poisons, and considering the recent discovery that our house has been compromised, I now take certain precautions." The maid poured only one half-cup at first, bringing it to her lips and draining it promptly. She then poured two more cups. "Each servant makes what they intend to serve, and tests it before me. I don't drink or eat anything otherwise."

Lorenz had noticed there were portions missing from his own meal, but refrained from making any remark that may be considered rude. _That would explain why Claude disappeared behind the servants curtain before the food was presented. I cannot imagine living with such paranoia._

"Is that not a touch over the top?"

"Preserving our lives is not the place to cut corners. The Estate is too large to keep track of all the servants." The maid chimed in:

"I rather enjoy it. I've tasted more than a few fine wines that otherwise would be reserved only for the Lords."

"I suppose that is... a silver lining."

She bowed and left. He wanted to change the subject.

"Have you ever considered taking a more respectful tone with the Duke? It may go a long way in your relationship."

"Not really. He's my grandfather."

"But surely- No, that is too indelicate."

"What?"

"I mean... Claude... you did not grow up here, I am correct?"

"Why of course I did."

"I mean, you did not arrive publicly to the Alliance until you were 17." Lorenz put on a mock ignorant voice. "So I am presuming you did not know the Duke as your grandfather. How is it that you can be so casual about a stranger, especially one who is the leader of a nation?"

"Well, I know he's not a stranger, he was my mom's dad. He isn't a stranger to her, so he's not a stranger to me... or at least half of me. Right? We're tied by family, even if I didn't know him for 17 years. If that was the case. If I grew up somewhere else. Which I didn't." He paused. "And you know, I have trouble respecting a man who is letting the Empire invade the Leicester Alliance: our home, _my_ home. He might be leading the nation, but he can't see beyond the borders either, even when they are being carved away maliciously."

"I see. If you were not family, you might be more directly hostile?"

"Yep. So that stops outside of the Roundtable or his conference room here. He's the only family I have nearby: I'm not going to treat my grandfather like the Duke, and I'm not going to treat the Duke like my grandfather."

"But surely those two are inseparable for him?"

"He's learning. Old man, new tricks. Obviously he still councils me over dinner, but that's a typical grey area for stubborn old men. Why are you worried about our relationship?"

"I am concerned that you may treat all the Lords with such disrespect. You make things so hard on yourself..." Lorenz sipped his tea thoughtfully " ...You cannot intermingle with anyone without leaving some mark on them."

"Change is good. Usually. Even if it's abrasive, as long as I'm challenging people to change for the better. People change me too. That's just how relationships work."

"Not precisely; your personality is more contagious than most. Can you not simply appreciate a person as they are? Have you ever found someone exactly as they were and let them be?"

"My mother and father. There's this adviser in the-" _in the palace_ "-ahhh, this adviser to my parents estate. And Judith, but only because I literally can't change anything about her, that woman is a bedrock..." Someone else was clearly on his mind. He hesitated. "Do you remember that really peppy gatekeeper? That man was pure."

"I feel as though you are avoiding someone else important."

"You got me ...of course I would never change anything about Byleth."

"_Professor_ Byleth." The air became heavy. "Claude... are we ever going to discuss more fully your trips to Garreg Mach?"

"I don't really want to."

"If you really do not wish to speak of it, I will not press. But I can at least offer to listen to you if it would give you any relief."

"No." Claude looked away from Lorenz and took a long draw of his tea. "Maybe... some other time."

"Very well." Lorenz rose from the plush couch that was putting him to sleep, stretching. "Will I be taking the same guest quarters as last time?"

"If that's where you want to sleep." Claude's suggestive tone brought another matter to Lorenz's memory: the key. He put his hand in his pocket to check that it was still there. It weighed on him whether or not to reveal it; something about keeping it for himself brought him satisfaction, like he had pulled one over on the infallible Golden Deer. His decision was made for him: his hand fumbling in his pocket had drawn Claude's attention, who's perverse imagination was already working behind his eyes.

"Stop daydreaming! I have your key!" He pulled it out to prove he was not letting his hands wander. "Last time you were here your threw your door key at me before falling asleep."

Claude's disappointment was palpable for only a moment, followed by a grin.

"Well I already have my own; keep it."

"I have no use for it."

"Neither do I."

"You planned this."

"Nope." His lazy smile grew wider. "A fortunate coincidence."

Lorenz grimaced at him, set the key down on the side table, and made for the door. Claude chided after him:

"If you leave it there, someone else might find it. No one else has a key to my room, and maybe I didn't rout all of the spies."

"Well then take it up yourself." He responded.

"No, I don't think I will." Claude vacated his chair and left the room before Lorenz could gather what he said, passing him in the frame of the doorway. He stopped briefly in the hallway. "In all earnesty, I have been looking for someone to keep a spare key for me. You might need it in an emergency. Sleep soundly, Lorenz."

_If he dies, he dies; it cannot be helped._ Lorenz spun on his heel and left the sitting room. His worries followed him down the hallway. _Could I find my way back if I needed to? This estate has too many damned sitting rooms. Surely the key will find it's way back to him. It is marked with the golden deer, there is no mistaking who it belongs to._

He managed to navigate back to the guest room, which had been opened and lit- and was in use by Lalia and Alvina.

"Oh for the _love of the Goddess_, this is _my_ room, get off of one another."

"Oh! Oh my! Sorry, My Lord, Lord Lorenz!" Alvina struggled to lower her fluffy skirts back down around her waist. "So sorry! Lalia said- she said-"

"I did not think you would come back to your room tonight, Lorenz." Lalia, finished buttoning her shirt, incensed.

"Truly, Lalia? Where am I sleeping, in the garden!?" She looked at him with pity and raised a single eyebrow. "Anyway, I need you to go fetch something I have left in one of the sitting rooms."

"Which one?"

"I do not remember! The one with the painting of the ugly horse!"

"Oh, that's the White Room, I'll show you you Lalia." Alvina was already eager to follow her to somewhere more private. She pulled Lalia by the hand.

"What am I looking for, My Lord?"

"A key. On a side table."

"The brass one with the deer, the one that does not belong to Gloucester Hall, the one you have been secretly pining over when you think I am not looking?" She asked with derision.

"The very one."

"I'll return it to you in an hour." Lalia hurried out of the room with an eager Alvina following.

"_Fine_."

* * *

"Here it is Lalia." The sweet maid beamed up at her wanting to be praised.

"Thank you." Lalia ran a finger down Alvina's cheek, brushing away and ocean-blue lock. "Wait here." She opened the door to find the room already put out. When her eyes adjusted, she found a small lantern on the side table. Lighting it carefully, she found the brass key glowing on the table opposite the couch.

"Stupid, prideful man" she mumbled, making her way around the low couch to retrieve it. _This couch looks nice enough for-_

"Gasp!" She turned to see Claude standing in the shadow of the door.

"I don't guess you're fetching that for Lorenz?"

"Of course I am." She sheathed the knife that she had pulled instinctively. "He sent me here to get it as soon as he came to his room. You know how desperate he is to appear detached."

"Maybe he did, or maybe he mentioned it was here in passing and you came to seize it. Either way, I don't trust you with it." Lalia was greatly confused by Claude's distrust, but then it occurred to her: _the Duke never told him._

She tossed the key to Claude, unwilling to challenge the only Riegan Heir. He caught it without a word.

"Keep it then. I do not enjoy being a go-between of your unrequited lust and Lorenz's suppressed feelings, but as his maid and his retainer I do my job regardless of your suspicions."

"Haha. You're good." The laugh was empty, the compliment was not.

"I _am_ good. That's why I'm Lorenz's ally _and yours_."

"Don't count yourself among my allies. I don't dislike you, Lalia, but I don't _know_ anything about you and can't _find_ anything about you. If you really want my trust, tell me where to look."

"When are you returning to Almyra?"

"Give me something I didn't already figure out on my own."

"Have you looked in your own library?" That stumped him. He grew dark.

"Where in the library?"

"Do not ask me, I'm not a Maid for House Riegan. May I return to Lorenz, My Lord?"

"For now."

Lalia dismissed Alvina as she left the sitting room, no longer in any mood.

* * *

The following morning, Lorenz asked about for the library. One of the many servants milling about lead him through a corridor of near identical heavy doors before arriving at the very end. The Riegan Library encompassed the first two floors of the west wing.

Lorenz took to the stacks immediately, running his hands over some familiar copies of books found in his own library, and many unfamiliar books. He found an ancient listing of great families of the Alliance, and pulled it out.

_I am sure Claude would have already checked over family roles for the Benettos. But maybe something was missed. I need to talk to Claude about them, and the Vaultier... but not after last night. Lalia never brought the key back and I fell asleep. He's going to ask about it._ As though beckoned by his thoughts, the dreaded question was whispered in his ear.

"Did you send Lalia back for the key last night?" Claude snuck up on Lorenz.

"Do. Not. Do that!" He turned and smacked Claude in the shoulder with a heavy tome. "What significance is it what errand I may or may not have sent Lalia on last night?"

"This isn't me teasing Lorenz; you know I don't trust her." Lorenz tipped his head back in frustration.

"_I _trust her Claude, let it go. Of course I sent her back. You are so reckless, I did not want to wake to find you _murdered in_ your bed because you are still round-about trying to _lure me into_ your bed. I could not remember where the room was myself, but Alvina did."

"Fine." He tossed the key on the shelf in beside Lorenz. "If you want it, take it now."

"Why would I want it?"

"I want you to have it."

"Why!?" Lorenz hissed.

"Because you like it. I don't care if you do nothing with it." His voice dropped to a purring whisper. "New parts of it have been polished with handling. I like the idea of you carrying it in your pocket. It's a little less lonely knowing you could come into my room, even if you never do." His body shifted slightly, wanting to move closer to Lorenz, but he restrained himself.

Lorenz looked at him with suspicion, but snatched the key off of the shelf anyway.

"I am only indulging your strange notions because you are so terribly depressing. Expect nothing, because that is what I offer. You can fantasize whatever you like, but do not involve me." He furrowed his brows at Claude. "And it_ is_ a nice key. I admire such fancy things." He slipped the key back into his pocket, the return of it's weight oddly comforting.

"That's... not a quirk I expected you to have. What are you, a magpie?" He placed his elbow on the shelf and leaned into it "I can get you more fancy things."

"I only have two pockets." He rejected the notion. "Stop trying to woo me like a Lady."

"Just a friendly offer to buy you nice things while you don't have a penny to your name." He paused for a response, but Lorenz did not take the bait. "Just remember: don't let Lalia or any other maid hold or use the key."

"Why is that?"

"It's a trap. In short everyone in House Riegan knows to leave a Golden Deer key where you find it. House Riegan hasn't put any staff to death in the last 20 years, but if a spy or assassin was revealed I don't know what would happen." _Even Alvina. Why did she lead Lalia there and not warn her?_

"Claude, such paranoia in your own home must leave you and your staff so little time for rest."

"I would rest better if I didn't have to sleep alone."

"There you go again. If you can bring yourself back from the edge of yearning long enough, we must discuss Vaultier Jericho, what we can do for him, and what he can do for us."

"Right. Over here."

They sat down at a long table. Lorenz was surprised to see so many people milling about; it would seem House Riegan had enough staff that they took half days. _How did they regain so much wealth so quickly just by the arrival of an heir? Investments, I suppose. They are likely profiting from the war indirectly; everyone does, even if they oppose it._

"So. This Vaultier. He has two daughters, one with a crest and he asked you to protect them?"

"In the event of his death, yes. In exchange, he can help us access bank vaults and get us information."

"So he can check the Benettos vaults? We can only hope they have any information stored there instead of the chateau."

"We are _not_ investigating the Benettos; I am not sending that man to check on their vaults when I am sure it will spell his death warrant."

"But it's the safest way to find out about them- and we're running out of time. We need to know as much as possible before the Roundtable meeting so you can have leverage when you meet with Lord Adalius."

"That option is safest- for _us_: when we are already relatively safe and yet the Vaultier fears for his life."

"He's choosing to take this risk. You can't make deals with people and then not utilize them- that defeats the point."

"I will not put him in any danger that I am not willing to risk myself!" Lorenz's temper flared. "I know for a fact the Benettos have no intention to kill me for the time being." He had never considered Claude to be so ruthless... he was himself fortunate enough to be one of Claude's more valuable pawns. It would follow that people unimportant to him were... not disposable, but reasonably expendable when they 'chose to take the risk' as he worded it.

Lorenz continued after regaining his composure.

"I have not arrived at my point yet- I will have him move Gloucester funds secretly to a new vault under a pseudonym. That should be easy enough, arousing no suspicion. If we are to have him investigate other vaults, however, I want to make measures to ensure his safety and his daughters."

"How?"

"That is where I need your help in planning. What can we possibly do aside from sending someone to aid him? I am sure he has his own guards already, regardless of whether he trusts them."

"Good question. The only thing we can do is find out more about Lord Morley so that if he makes a move, we can threaten him with knowledge of his designs."

"... Do you believe he might already know about Dina and Gala?"

"There's a small chance. Have you ever had that thing happen, where your crest flares outside of battle?"

"When I was little, all the time. Especially when playing. The exact same way it activates when fighting. Any act of heightened emotion- aggression, joy, fear- may cause it to manifest. So supposing he witnessed the girls playing-"

"He might have seen it... But still not know which girl it came from." Claude added.

"He may be waiting for Jericho's sickly wife to pass to make matters easier."

"That's possible. Dark, but possible." Claude leaned back into the high back wooden chair. "Have him move the funds. Never mind the Benettos- for now."

He stroked his chin thoughtfully for a few moments, before starting.

"I almost forgot- some good news: I got a letter from Hilda!" He pulled the envelope from his pocket and waved it before opening it again.

"Oh? How is she- and Marianne?"

"I got this... two days ago. It seems to be going well between Hilda and 'Mari'- isn't that precious? She calls her Mari- but Hilda is poorly equipped to debate with Margrave Edmund. She says talking to him 'sucks' and he is being 'stupid like my father.' " He mocked Hilda's carefree tone playfully.

"May I read it?"

"Nah, that's the gist of it." Lorenz could see three pages front to back.

"Why not?" Lorenz was genuinely confused. "Is it not a report?"

"There's some other stuff in there. Personal stuff. Because we're _really close _friends."

"Hilda and I are friends as well: she said as much."

"Don't pry, Lorenz." He folded the letter back up. "I don't want to argue about it."

"Fine." Lorenz agreed. Fighting when he had no where else to live for the moment would be foolish. He changed the subject. "It has come to my attention that you do have so many staff that seem to have plenty of free time to peruse the library on a weekday morning. Is house Riegan so generous in their leisure time?"

"Peruse? Oh no. Everyone here is working for me. I'm looking for something."


	21. The First Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> edited 02-18-2020

"He said the key is a trap?" Lalia confirmed before she became irritated. They were in Lorenz's guest suite, the last rays of light pouring through the window to hit the east wall.

"Yes, he said all of the servants know. For you, he made provision. This time." Lorenz waved his hand over a fresh letter, urging it to dry. "Make sure not to touch it. I plan to keep it with me."

"Why did Alvina let me fetch it..." _Maybe she did not know. She didn't see it... but she should have deduced what key Lorenz might have of Claude's._

"Maybe she forgot. The poor girl seems rather air-headed, and I am sure being caught with her skirt up did not help her memory."

"That makes sense..." Lalia knew the 'stupid maid' act when she saw it, but she had been looking past it for her own pleasure. _Maybe it's time to look into her sweet nature..._

Lorenz folded the letter. He sealed the envelope with golden wax, having left his own lavender wax at the Hall, stamping it with his personal seal: the lower flourish of the Gloucester Crest supporting a rose and a lance. It was lovely enough in gold, but it was not quite right.

"Take this to Vaultier Jericho at his home. Remain unseen. You are to ensure he reads it and memorizes it, then return it here to see that it is burned thoroughly." He passed it to her. She nodded, donning a hood she kept for such occasions to conceal her flamboyant hair, along with nondescript commoner clothing she had chosen. She let herself out.

Claude and Lorenz had come to an agreement: he would mention to Jericho the Benettos Vault, and the danger involved. He would make him aware of their needs, but urge him not to take action until he received further correspondence. He still felt uneasy about it.

Lorenz stood to pace the room. Having been preoccupied with all of the concerns that plagued him, he had not yet appreciated the luxuriance: it was a larger room than the Master Suite at Gloucester Hall, but about the same size as his room at home. It was, much to his taste, fitted with royal purple and gold linens, rose motifs carried throughout the room in carvings, prints and accents of every type. _It seems as though I was put in this room on purpose._

There was a door he had yet explored; opening it, he found not the closet he expected, but a modern bathing room. It was rare outside of noble households, but even rarer were private full baths. Of course house Riegan would host such an extravagance even in the guest suites.

"How did I miss this?" He echoed against the white porcelain tiles, excited. Wasting no time, he tested the bath: _hot_ hot water. He had avoided the communal baths and sauna that was kept by the estate; even though he had been shown there were private nooks, they were still relatively open. He was not one for putting himself in a vulnerable position with Claude about. _I am becoming rather ripe, and there is little else to do at this hour. _Without hesitation, he disrobed and waited for the bath to fill.

A knock rapped on the door as the bath was almost finished.

"Damn." He wrapped a towel about his waist, passing back into the bedroom just as the door opened.

"Lorenz, I thought you might-"

"Claude. I should have known it was you. Step back outside and wait for me to answer before invading my privacy." He pointed at him with rebuke.

Claude said nothing, only looking Lorenz up and down before swallowing any comments he wanted to make. He backed out, knocking again.

"I am indisposed. You will have to come back later." Lorenz clicked the lock into place.

"Come to the sauna with me." He asked.

"I have just discovered the _private _bath here, and it begs testing." _Serves him right. This is too enjoyable._

"Looorenz..."

"Enjoy your sauna, Claude."

"I'll be there for a few hours, I know how you like to change your mind."

"Do not count on it, _Deer_ Boy." He heard an audible groan as Claude gave up and walked away.

Fortunately he had not argued with the pitiful man long enough for his bath to cool. He dipped a toe in, then a leg. _Ahhh. The water here must be brought up from a hot spring to stay so warm. It does not feel like one of those lukewarm wood fire baths._ He scrubbed and lay back to soak. It was rather small- few things in Fodlan accounted for his height. The communal baths began to seem more enticing. Nevertheless, he let his mind wander while splashing water over his cold knees protruding from the surface.

_Claude's birthday is soon. I have a quarter empty bottle of wine to my name. I cannot invite him to tea in his own home. As poetic as it might be, I will not meet him in the gazebo... He likes my poetry, but only to laugh at it._

Lorenz was positive that others had grown out of the birthday habits developed while they were children; Hilda was an exception: the woman was born to be spoiled. He, however, thought it important. It was an unparalleled sentiment, kindness in a time when the world was unkind, to praise someone for being alive. It was not celebrated often enough.

_He gave me something, after a fashion._ The key sat neatly on top of his new folded evening clothes. _But what would he take?_

His eyes wandered over the key again.

_Maybe I can search his room. For an idea._ He ran with the excuse.

Lorenz knew Claude would be in the sauna for three hours; having stated he would be waiting, he would wait the _entire time_, desperate. He still had two hours after his own bath, and the guards for Claude's room would not be present. He emerged from the lavatory with purpose, finding fresh day wear and grabbing the key.

His room was not far by design. Most of the rooms were on the East end, Claude's on the third floor just above Lorenz's.

He slipped the key into the lock, turning the knob quietly.

Little had changed since his prior visit, but he did not notice then how messy it was._ I guess if there are only two keys, the maids are rarely let in to clean._ He locked the door behind him, heading straight to the bedside table that Claude favored: the other was empty, covered in a layer of dust, but the one nearer the door was scattered with odd trinkets and multiple oil lamps.

Most of the sundries were scraps of paper covered in scribbled notes he couldn't read, quills and ink; a gold coin worn smooth; what seemed to be a metal puzzle. Leaning slightly to the left, he found a concealed sheath and knife affixed to the inner side of the table._ Ah, so anything of interest might be under or inside of something. Of course._

He pulled the drawer of the table open to find handkerchiefs. Many. Black and gold, some folded, some used._ A juvenile deterrent, I suppose. Disgusting._ He used one of the clean handkerchiefs to push the rest away, feeling around the bottom of the drawer.

As he suspected, there was an intention just slight enough to slide is fingertip into. He lifted it slightly; invading Claude's privacy for once, instead of the other way around, elated him. _He told me to use the key for whatever I liked. This is on his head._ He reassured himself. In the bottom of the false drawer was a neatly folded piece of paper.

He removed it, unfolding carefully. On it were only a few lines:

_Not Here_   
_ Keep Looking_   
_ When I find you out_   
_ Good luck outliving the week_

Lorenz shivered, recalling his first night in Derdriu when Claude eased the allegedly poisoned teacup out of his hands before he could drink it.

_I might be more concerned if he had not told me to do whatever I liked with his key, and promised not to hide anything from me. I'm entitled to anything in this room._ His repeated personal reassurances did little to sooth his unease.  
He picked up a pen to leave his own note at the bottom.

_"Why would you invite people to your room if it's so nasty? Clean up."_

He placed it back into the hidden compartment, making it clear that the drawer had been disturbed, rifled through, before pulling back the quilts on the bed.

"Naturally." There were a few books scattered around under the sheets. "He has not matured a day. Almyt, Almyt, Fodlaner, Almyt; he favors his first tongue apparently. Sothis forbid any enemy made their way into his room; such evidence would damn him."

The quilt had upset one of the larger pillows; underneath, there was a familiar flash of silver filigree that he had not seen in years.

"He-! That-! That is where that went! He stole it!" Lorenz seized the small volume, pink washed leather, gilded with silver. He opened the pages to find his own writing, leftover from his tortured stay at the Officer's Academy: a mixture of copied poems, original poems, and journal entries, all embarrassing to look back over. There were now several, no, dozens of new entries in Almyt. "Bastard!" he whispered in dismay.

Despite how painfully shameful it was to look back over the the entries, it was too tantalizing. _Was I this bad? Saints, was I that desperate! Oh- this one is filthy! I do not remember writing such a thing!_ He settled onto the edge of the bed, enraptured in his own young adult depravity. While riffling through the pages, a letter fell out: the one Hilda had sent days prior.

The one Claude would not let him read.

Lorenz turned it over in his hands. The envelope was soft and ornamented with flourishes, pink, lovely just like Hilda. It was heavy with pages on pages of... _personal subjects. Whatever that means. _He allowed himself to turn it over and unfold the flap before a feeling of proactive regret washed over him._ No, reading this would go too far. Claude may be the sort, but I am of better breeding._

He tucked it back into the journal, and returned to the pages in Almyt to run his fingers over the bumpy ink of each swirling character...

...For too long.

He heard the lock click, and after a brief panic, resigned himself to being found. He hummed with anxiety, but composed himself as nonchalantly as he could after tossing the journal across the room. _I have every permission to be here. I am simply reading._ He picked up the nearest book.

He was pretending to read, so flustered he could not see the pages, when Claude came in. Wrapped in a towel, Claude smirked when he saw him, crossing his arms

"Comfortable?"

"Not really. Your room smells _abhorrent_." He snapped the book shut, noticing the title was in Almyt. _Curses!_

"You didn't have to come." He stood just past the closed door.

"I wanted to sort through your things and see what books you kept hidden from the library."

"Can you read Almyt?"

"Perhaps. I will be taking my leave now." He held the book tight in front of his waist. Averting his eyes from Claude did nothing to protect him from the fresh smell of him, the soap and the heat from the sauna that drifted across the room. It had not escaped his notice that the towel was short enough to reveal a knife strapped around his thigh. He continued to make excuses in his panic. "You told me to use the key for whatever I liked, and so I have."

"That's... fine. But isn't that your maid's job: to sneak around and gather information?"

"You said she was not allowed to keep your key for any reason."

"What would happen if she wasn't caught? Nothing. Good maids don't get caught."

"It was still on my honor."

"That honesty is why you have it." He moved to the bed, partially blocking Lorenz's path. "If only you could be that honest about everything."

"I am."

"Not with yourself."

"Goodbye Claude."

"Stay. We can talk. You can stay there-" he motioned toward his prior seat on the bed "-and put this over your lap while I change." He pressed a pillow against Lorenz.

For lack of option, reluctant to stroll out of the room in such a state, he took the pillow, averting his eyes.

"It's not necessarily my room I keep under lock and key; it's me. If I'm going to die, I'd rather do it in battle, not have my throat slit by some assassin."

"So there is nothing in here of interest at all?"

"Anything interesting is probably a liability. I have a few sentimental items, but nothing that constitutes a weakness. Nothing I would die or kill for. Usually."

"So on occasion there is something so valuable hidden here?" Claude looked over him pointedly, but Lorenz still kept his eyes averted.

"There is right now. Not necessarily hidden." Lorenz made no comment: not always the sharpest mind. "I'm dressed, you can stop blushing."

"That joke never gets old." He insulted. Claude had put on little more than the towel; some linen shorts for sleeping. Tighter than they should be as though he was outgrowing them. Lorenz turned his head back around, but now keeping his eyes to the floor.

"Because you're always flustered around me. Remember that thing I said about honesty?"

"I think I will actually be going now." He deftly slid the book in place of the pillow to stand. "I'm taking this book."

"You're welcome to it, but can you really read it?"

"The pictures will suffice." He admitted, chancing an angry glance at Claude. He smiled at him smugly.

"I didn't know you liked erotica." Lorenz chucked the book away, much in the same manner as the journal. It hit the floor, falling open onto a diagram of a flying contraption: a theoretical aviation book. "Your gullibility is a blessing."

"...Your inability to allow anyone around you to maintain any sort of dignity, which you seem to think counts for charm, is the flaw that will ruin you." Lorenz said absent his usual ego. He left silently, door slamming behind him.

He spoke with such sincere venom rarely enough guilt rolled over Claude again and again as he replayed his behavior in his mind.

_Why the hell can't I stop?_

* * *

"What did Vaultier Jericho say?" Lorenz asked when Lalia returned to his room early the next morning. He had spent the dawn hours languishing on a couch by the vaulted window in his room.

"Vaultier Jericho asked that you come to the bank in three days; he will let you know the details of your new vault, giving you a key. He suggested that hereafter I make all of your deposits and withdrawals, to avoid suspicion; but he wanted to give the key to you specifically."

"Sensible. Honest. Did he say anything about the Benettos Vault I mentioned?"

"He said that Lord Morley attributed the vault personally. They were instructed to open it for no one, not for any reason."

"I guess Lord Morley would need to be in on it considering their security measure concerning crests. A Major Crest of Timotheos would cause an uproar. Investigating it is out of the question then."

"So it seems, unless an alternative can be devised."

"Oh? You have been thinking about it, then?"

"Yes. If Jericho can get me into the bank, and tell me how to get into the vault, I will take the matter into my own hands."

Lorenz became serious.

"No. There can be nothing in that vault worth anyone's risk. We will elucidate their secrets by some other means."

"I do not believe we can." She sat on the couch beside him. "Lorenz, I want to know everything possible. I know nothing about them, and that is bad. This is for me. The only way I can protect you is with the information I gather, and I cannot do that if you will not let me."

"On the contrary, you protect me just fine with your sword, and on occasion your dagger." He combed absently through his hair in his early morning daze. "I need you to cut this."

"Is now the time?"

"Yes, I am done considering the Benettos. I have barely awoken. Fetch a pair of scissors."

"I am not cutting your hair again; when I sent you to the Officer's Academy, you looked ridiculous. I have not done much better since. That was fine when you were a child, but now..."

"That was my favorite haircut. Avant garde, the future of styling." He was not joking, and that put Lalia to shame. He could have refined tastes at times, but other times it devolved into gaudy and tacky.

"Let it grow out."

"Why? It is in my way."

"At this length I can at least put it up for you, until someone else can cut it." It was well passed his chin on one side now, still uneven from where she had cut it before- but it looked much nicer grown out. When she was done, only one strand was too short to reach the neat ponytail.

"This feels languid, as though I am heading to the bath and not about on the business of the day."

"You will get used to it." She smoothed the extra strand. "Much better."

Dressing himself and sending Lalia away to do whatever she so pleased, he made his way to Claude's room. _That journal is mine and I will have it back._

He knocked on the door, running his thumb over the key inconsideration that he could just let himself in. It felt wrong during the day. Footsteps thumped across the floor within.

"Yes?" Claude mumbled through the door.

"I have come to retrieve something I left behind-" The door was unlocked and opened before he could finish his sentence. Claude leaned against the door frame wrapped in a blanket.

"You mean your little note, bastard?" His eyebrows raised at the notice of Lorenz's hair._The things I could do with a ponytail-_

"You already found the note? You are a slob. But no, I am here the journal you stole from me when we were at the Officer's Academy." He rambled urgently.

"I didn't _steal_ it. I found it on my first trip back to Garreg Mach. Before the bandits moved in, when everyone thought the place was haunted. I was able to scour the place. We all fled after the battle; no one went back to their rooms, and it seems the Empire didn't bother with it after that much damage. I brought back anything sentimental I could carry."

_I believed it went missing before that. Perhaps I was mistaken..._ Lorenz admitted to himself. He was too quick to fault Claude for anything that went wrong.

"You- you still took it from where it was."

"Sorry, I guess? I could have just left it there for some criminal to use as kindling. Oh, sorry I wrote in it, too."

"Do not apologize insincerely. It does me little good now- there are no pages left, and I do not know Almyt. You have read it all, I am sure, so the damage is done."

"Do you want it back or not? You can read my entries with a little help..."

"I do wonder what you soiled my personal journal with."

"I can read it to you."

"No. I am sure it is grossly inappropriate."

"So indecisive. I mean, I couldn't let you out do me. You really _are_ repressed. You know you used the word _swelling_ twenty-five-"

"Claude, please!" He pushed him into the room, afraid the guards might be near enough to overhear. "A metaphor! It's a metaphor!"

"Hmhm. Right. Hold on." He laughed in his throat. The aviation book had not been disturbed where Lorenz chucked it the evening prior, but the journal was on Claude's bedside table. He picked it up softly, slowly, running his thumb over the cover that had worn down under his touch.

He returned to Lorenz, extending the journal with a sad expression.

"Here."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry about last night."

"Do not lie to me. Let me know when you are ready to hear Jericho's response."

"We'll talk about the vaults tomorrow. I want to take a day."


	22. Unexpected Assistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-18-2020

Lorenz carried a pot of tea out to the garden, just far enough that he would not get lost. It was isolating, waiting for the day of the Roundtable to arrive in an Estate not his own. Claude's paranoia had touched on he a Lalia both- Lorenz did not mingle with the servants, and Lalia spent her time investigating the Estate and it's hire. Lorenz went nowhere without Thyrsus, per Lalia's order, so he could protect himself while she was busy elsewhere.

Claude had brought him here, but after his failed advances and his continued childishness, they avoided one another to maintain the peace. Lorenz read books. He steeped his own tea for the pleasure. He wrote some more letters to put away, that he would burn some years in the future. Half expecting them to be stolen, he worried over the place where he tucked them under his clothing: but they never once moved. He napped.

While absently wandering the Estate in a fit of intense boredom, he happened upon the training grounds. _Of course! I have not trained in weeks!_ For some time he had been loath to use either Thyrsus or his lance after fleeing Gloucester, but he felt himself waning in strength. He hurried back to his room to grab the heirloom Blessed Lance he was so familiar with; but upon returning he found even his deprecated lance skills were too advanced for dummies and there was no one there who would match him.

Lorenz took a seat on a stone bench and began to charge Thyrsus: it would drain him, but it was necessary. He had not done so since they arrived in Derdriu, discouraged by a constant fatigue that he could not shake. In truth, he should do it in some privacy, but he was so sick of his room.

"Lord Lorenz? Are you waiting for someone to spar with?" The voice was vaguely familiar.

Lorenz remained even until he could stem his energy from pouring into the staff.

"Not particularly; it seems that there is none in the Estate who is willing to challenge me." He looked up to see the butler, Morven, who had been unknowingly used as a front by the Benettos spies to deliver intel.

"I believe I could at least parry you. Lance, or staff?"

"Lance. The staff is... not to be trifled with currently." He returned Thyrsus to his back, picking up his lance to move to the center of the presently empty sparring ground.

"Excellent." Morven took up his own position, unholstering the battle ax from his hip: it was imposing, all black and smooth, no frills. Not a weapon to write about for glorious combat, but made for singular deadly purpose. _Much like the man himself_ Lorenz noted: he was plain black of hair and dress. He did not have the typical flair of a butler or maid, but perhaps his reclusive look made him all the more deadly. Only his blue eyes stood out.

"You may start." Lorenz announced graciously, tinting his voice with the ego that had spurred so many opponents to strike confidently, attacking the arrogance instead of the man before them. It was a feint that made people underestimate him carelessly.

This man was no such fool.

True to the sharp skill of an assassin, Morven charged without fanfare, raising the ax to strike- twisting around Lorenz's lance, against even his own momentum to swing in the opposite direction at the final moment. Lorenz tipped his lance down frantically, putting it's lower shaft between him and the ax. The battle ax glanced off lightly, no killing force behind it.

_But it still could have been nasty, if I failed to block... This man could kill me._ Lorenz felt a slight panic rise in him: a sparring accident would be very convenient, tidy. He had been careless to engage him with weapons, on his honor not to strike truly. But there was also a thrill to finally fighting again. _Claude suspected nothing of him. He's been vetted._

Lorenz renewed his effort, confident that even if it did come to deadly blows, he could always pull from Thyrsus to obliterate Morven. He did miss sparring for sport... battle had ruined the joy for lance Lorenz had always held. Thyrsus allowed him to keep his distance, and so he had largely discarded any close combat weapons. Their blows rang against one another, each strike blocked or parried.

Morven dodged in a strange way that Lorenz had not seen: bare bones efficient, no move wasted. Even the surliest knights had some style to them, some quirk that they could not master and so had to work around. The butler however seemed to halt his body at a split second notice and return his energy to a completely contradictory action.

"Fascinating!" He exclaimed amidst another dodge. "You must teach me how you to that!" Morven grabbed the lance shaft, assuming Lorenz was distracted, but he pivoted around the man to force his arm backwards to release. In his haste to reclaim his lance, he was negligent of the man's other arm: Lorenz heard the characteristic ring of a crest activating just out of his view; a star blazed past his face, cutting his cheek.

Lorenz dropped the lance and spun Thyrsus around swiftly.

_Poison. That's how he's going to do it. The star was poisoned-_

"Well done, Lord Lorenz. Your reaction to being wounded is very confident. Most people flinch, and that's when I get them."

Lorenz waited, glaring at him silently, breathing heavy from the match. He had been poisoned briefly before, and so he waited for the tell... but the unique the searing pain never came. _Perhaps Claude and his phobias are what is truly poisoning me._ He lowered Thyrsus, extending his hand for the customary post-spar shake.

"You have a crest?"

"A minor one." Morven took his hand, then bowed briefly as customary for his station.

"Which is?"

"Ah, you did not see? ... It's the Crest of Fraldarius. I came originally from the Kingdom."

"Fraldarius? Truly? Are you related to the House?"

"Not at all. I suspect I am some forgotten lineage of bastard."

"Fascinating. And you chose to become a butler, despite your proof of being distantly related to such a powerful family?"

"Fate has its own designs." He returned his ax to it's holster. "Would you like to take lunch together? I can tell you more about my evasion technique."

"Yes- please, that would be lovely." _Finally, someone else to speak with. No more of Lalia's cold shoulder because she got in trouble with Claude, or Claude's... well, everything about him._

* * *

"It is a Dagdan technique. They make the movement of the body an art form. Absolute control. It takes a decade or more of training to be of any use in battle. I may seem to excel at it's practice to the untrained eye, but the true masters are surreal to behold."

Though Morven seemed earnest enough, Lorenz remained vigilant while he prepared a meal for them both. They stood in a corner of the busy kitchen before making their way into the servants garden: small, secluded, more intimate than the imposing maze that ensnared half of the estate. They sat at a diminutive garden table.

"I see. I am ashamed to admit I have not devoted enough time to the study of Western countries. Or any foreign relations, for that matter."

"It is only natural; I am sure as an heir to such a powerful House there is only so much time in the day. You are young, and Dagda is more of the Empire's concern than that of the Alliance."

"It is true, though given the reprieve I would relish in the arts, the literature of every country. Perhaps in another life."

"Perhaps when old age relieves you of your burdens."

"Pray to hope we all live long enough for such a blessing. What are you doing?" Morven set both plates in front of himself.

"A test, rather common in the recent weeks. Here are two meals that we are to share. You pick which to eat, to ensure that I have not been tempted to poisoned one or the other."

“I watched you prepare them.”

“You should be aware that with a skilled assassin, sleight of hand is no matter. Your presence means nothing.”

"And if you've poisoned both?"

"Life is full of risks. Am I willing to die to attempt your assassination? No. I am hungry."

"Ah, a philosopher." Lorenz chose the dish on the right, and thought nothing more of it.

"How long have you been employed at the Riegan Estate?"

"One year. I worked in the city before that for various lower lords. The Riegan Estate has always been my aim. I want to help the Leicester Alliance."

"So that blunder with the Benettos spies must have wounded you personally."

"No. Maids, Butlers tend to work alone. A network of five in one house is not something that could be countered without extreme negligence on their part. I worked closely with three of them and they never made a single mistake. I feel no shame in being at the very least of ordinary capability."

"I see... but certainly not in your ax skills." Morven looked at him sideways for a moment, before leaning forward onto his elbows to study Lorenz.

"It does aid my surety that I am capable in _many_ other arenas." Lorenz was confused by his emphasis... until he felt Morven's ankle slide against his own, up and down his calve. "There are many rumors going around the Estate. Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

"H-Wha- What?" Lorenz pushed away from the small table. Too small. His slight distance did nothing to prevent Morven from reaching under the table and sliding a hand onto his knee.

"I understand you are apprehensive. But should you find yourself terribly lonely... or desire to exact jealousy, It is my pleasure to serve any need."

"What kind of trick is this!?" He nearly upended the innocent garden table trying to stand, but Morven held it down.

"Trick? I do not play games like the Riegan boy. When I am hungry, I eat... when I am aroused, I seek out company. Our needs are similar, and I live to serve." He leaned back into his chair. "And the Dagdan technique is not just for sparring."

"N-no!"

"You are going to be at the estate for some time. I am patient... You have many struggles to contend with, I understand. It is my duty not to harass you... but do not take it for disinterest." He continued to eat as though nothing had happened while Lorenz remained pressed into a tall hedge, clutching Thyrsus. “I am done with my advances, sit.”

“I believe I will take me meal elsewhere. Thank you for the spar and the dinner.” He took his plate to the formal dining hall and finished eating alone.

* * *

_Is this another of Claude's accursed games!? Sending his... very attractive servants after me! To what end!? How low can he be!_ Lorenz fumed, retreating back to his room in a state of distress. _People do not approach me! How cruel- to think I have made a friend. Monster. Vile. I cannot be out of this abominable Estate soon enough. Pray my father leaves in a hurry when he finds I have nothing to offer him and the Roundtable turns him away! I despise this madness._

When he returned to his room, Lalia was present, much to his surprise

"You! Finally returned from your amorous excursions?"

"I told you I have been investigating the Estate. Alvina is not even on the grounds currently... Are you alright?"

"No! Claude- he sent- there was this Butler. He sent this man after me to seduce me- I cannot express-"

"Was it Morven?"

"Yes! That-that _rogue_, with his icy blue eyes and being not so much shorter than me! Bastard!"

"He has been asking after you since we got here. At first I was suspicious, but now it makes sense. I do not believe Lord Claude is involved."

Lorenz was speechless.

"Lalia, people do not 'ask after me,' people do not _like_ me." Saying it aloud made him invariably sad. "It has to be another scheme!"

"It does_ not_ have to be a scheme. It was your hair- I have been telling you- and your attitude has improved. When you left the precarious situation in Gloucester and found yourself again in civil company... you do not realize what kind of man you have become. You still think of yourself as despicably as people whispered about you years ago and before."

His lip quivered. He removed his shoes and promptly put himself to bed in full clothes at 2 pm.

"What do I do?"

"You are a grown man, do whatever you like.”

"What I like is against my best interests."

“I am not versed in the tedium of the scandal that is noble bed hopping. I have not read them, but I see you've penned several new letters."

"I am retiring early. Leave me."


	23. Tedium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-18-2020

The next two days passed laboriously. Claude always found an excuse to be preoccupied or away from the estate, and Lorenz waited for the day to arrive when he would visit Jericho in Derdriu to receive his key. _After which I must wait another miserable three days for the Roundtable to convene. I may well die of inactivity. _He felt much like a canary in a forgotten cage.

He spent much of the day pouring over records from the Alliance. Claude was likewise in the library, but never in the same section or even earshot. When Lorenz once approached him he was "onto something" but did not elaborate.

“The space I asked for I suppose.” Lorenz muttered into a book. _He only has two modes: harassment or isolation. Just like a fool._

Lorenz risked the training grounds many times, to keep his energy and strength up: fortunately neither Morven nor Claude were frequent visitors. He used a training lance so that the dummies would remain intact, but it wasn’t the same. _Lalia should be here helping me. Investigating- investigating what, under a different maid’s skirts? Succubus._

Someone had painted an ugly rendition of Edelgard on one dummy and Hubert on another._ Although the rendition of Hubert much improves his harrowing visage._

“Aha!” He laughed aloud to himself before darkening. “I would run them both through without hesitation. Ruining- my- life!” on his last word his lunged at the Hubert dummy, snapping the wooden training lance in half

“Running people through? May I be of assistance?” Lorenz turned and pitched the broken lance at Morven’s head, reddening. The man batted it aside casually.

“Leave.”

“If you would abide me, My Lord, I wish to train with you again.” He walked over to the dummy, a splinter lodged in it’s stomach. “You will never get so close to Hubert. But you are right on the mark- supposedly he is immune to magic, it would have to be a martial weapon. A dark family, the Vestra’s.”

“A dark family for a dark purpose. Such families seem to be in abundance.”

“You’re speaking of the Benettos?”

“Monsters. Blood magic. Of course a conqueror like Edelgard would be willing to rely on such power, but the Benettos will be the first family routed when the Alliance is again whole.”

“Routed, or eradicated? Knowing what we do about them, do you think it is possible?” He began practicing forms with his ax.

“I will not know what is possible or necessary until we have put everything in order, until we know more about them. Would that we could get into that accursed vault.”

"I can enter the vault, and I can do so without Jericho's help... I am aware Lalia has offered, but she is important to you. I will concede I am of a... somewhat more expendable status, I am sure. Not that I have any intention of being caught."

"I will not risk anyone-"

"I do not appreciate feigned equanimity. Use me for my purpose." Morven commanded. "To prove my loyalty, if I may..."

Lorenz was hesitant. He would not confirm or deny that he was ready to put someone so carelessly into danger, and what he was convinced would be a gruesome death: the sundering rune from battle and from Lord Marco’s casket frequently terrorized him in his sleep.

“I will speak to Claude about the matter. More important is why you are so eager to aid me.”

“The Young Lord is scattered. You are composed. House Riegan has plenty of reliable servants at their disposal; you are presently a House of two. I came here to help the Alliance- it has become clear in just a few days that you are an integral piece. If I can prove myself, I only hope that you would allow me to join you.”

“Eager to join the doomed offshoot of House Gloucester? I can only laugh.”

“I would not count yourself doomed: the main House has a weak head on it's shoulders, and so the 'body' of Gloucester county is infirm. It will wither out from under Count Gloucester, rotting in the Empire's grip. I have no doubt that the full power of the name will be restored under your direction... through intrigue or your father's death, time will tell.”

“You could aid Claude better, more directly by giving him such unparalleled support.”

“Therein lies the problem: no one is allowed close enough to him. He relies on us, yet never trusts us. If I can help you to help him... he will take your counsel to heart.”

“Unfortunately you are of the same ilk as him, placing your hands wherever you please without invitation. I do not take your advances lightly.”

“Then it will not happen again.”

“I have heard such promises before.”

“From a child. I am not so juvenile.” He bowed. _Boy. Child. Young Lord. He thinks so very little of Claude, and it is... amusing._

“Morven, what age are you?”

“Twenty seven.”

“Hardly elder enough to refer to Claude as a child.”

“It is a matter of maturity, My Lord. I have confidence he will come into his own when the Alliance is thrust fully into his hands, but until then he could suffer a bit of ego bruising.”

“Aha! Too true. I will consider your admission... but not so soon, and certainly not without Lalia's blessing. For now, though, I will allow you to spar with me.”

“So long as you do not run me through. You have such a _gracefully_ concealed temper.”

While they fought, Lorenz did begin to wonder what exactly it was that Claude busied himself with. _He said we were waiting for the Roundtable. He’s been digging around at Garreg Mach for six to eight weeks of the preceding year. He speaks confidently but... where is his head? Morven is right. I must counsel him better. Maybe... maybe an arrangement like he has with the Duke. Friend in some areas, adviser in others._

When an hour had passed, and they had drawn several times, Lorenz felt relief for the first time in days.

“Morven... thank you. You have helped me resolve a tricky problem. Come with us to Derdriu tomorrow.”

“I am humbled, My Lord. I will be ready at first light, you need only send Lalia when you are prepared to leave.”

* * *

“Lorenz. Your father has arrived at Gloucester Hall.” Lalia had woken him just after sunrise, ready to get on with the day, unaware that sleep did not take Lorenz until the early morning: only four hours of sleep was as good as none. Suddenly he wished she still had someone to occupy her otherwise.

"Lalia... I am dressing. At the minimum... tea before news." She grunted at him, leaving hastily.

She returned just as readily, the porcelain clinking dangerously on the tray. She placed it on the table with another unsettling clank, buttering bread sloppily and stuffing it into her mouth.

“My father has returned so- so-" He yawned into a handkerchief "- so soon? I did not think he would arrive until the day before the Roundtable.”

“It seems when I received word of his journey, he was already much farther along than we believed. The information was not precise.”

“...Do you think I could go visit him?”

“No.”

“Why are you so on edge, Lalia? Stop shoving bread into your mouth like a commoner.” She finished her mouthful, then washed it down with tea.

“I am not concerned with your father, but who he may have brought with him. We are so fortunate to be away from Derdriu, here at the Riegan Estate. You should thank Claude again."

"....You're wearing armor." He noted.

"Yes. I will not underestimate the Empire.... I do not mean to alarm you Lorenz, but I believe they are already well ingrained into the heart of Derdriu. Your father arriving could be the signification of a larger plot coming to fruition... or absolutely nothing." _I would be more alarmed if Lord Ordelia arrives _she worried.

Lalia managed to calm herself, geared as she was for defense. She prepared two pieces of toast for Lorenz, and he was allowed some time to come fully to his senses. When a knock came on the bedroom door, Lalia started.

"Lorenz? You have a message." _Claude. It is too early for Claude._ Lalia crossed the room and opened the door cautiously all the same. "Good morning Lalia. Is he awake?"

"Yes. Come in."

"No need, Lalia, just take the message." Claude strode into the room anyway. "Why are _you_ bringing this to me?"

"I might have told all of the staff to redirect any of your messages and letters to me. A precaution."

"Precaution of what? Give me that." It was yet sealed; at least Claude had the decency not to open it, but he would surely stay here to press Lorenz for details.

"It's from Vaultier Jericho, right?" There was concern in his voice, but he was right: the seal matched his household. Lorenz then noticed the Black Ribbon pressed under the wax.

"Oh no." He opened the letter carefully, skimming the contents for apprehension, before breathing a sigh of relief. "His wife passed away."

"You look a little too comforted by such gruesome news."

"When I saw the Black Ribbon, I thought first of his daughters. His wife has been ill for some time. But this does mean we are more pressed to take action. The girls are now one parent away from becoming very valuable orphans."

"Conjecturally: we still have no evidence that this isn't all in Vaultier Jericho's head."

"In light of the risks he is taking for us, I will consider it gospel until I learn otherwise."

Lorenz read over the letter once more, before passing it to Claude.

"He wants you to come to his home instead of the Bank." Claude noted, passing the letter to Lalia.

"More macabre than I would like, but I suppose business goes on."

They both took a moment to think. Lalia poured Claude a cup of tea, and they sat under the rising sun plotting silently.

"Lord Claude, Count Gloucester is in the city."

"There was no need to tell him that, I am sure he would have found out on his own." Lorenz retorted, annoyed.

"Count Gloucester... and his Empire spies no doubt." He turned to Lorenz "You understand your father is dangerous? Don't try to go to him. You understand?"

"I understand you and Lalia are fearful of an old man. But yes, I will keep my distance."

"Good." While Lorenz took his time nibbling his toast, Claude quietly motioned for Lalia to meet him out of the room. "I'll be on my way. I need to get ready... for stuff."

"For 'stuff'? I have been meaning to inquire, what is this 'stuff' you are always so busy with? You remember you are to share all of your plans with me?"

"It's not always a plan. Sometimes... its just... stuff. Life stuff."

"Keep your secrets, I am sure they are infantile as you are." He waved Claude away haughtily. Lalia saw him out of the room.

"Lorenz, I will be back momentarily."

"Yes, please." He began to doze on the couch.

In the hallway, she found Claude peeking out of an alcove.

"You wanted to speak with me, My Lord?"

"Tell me when to meet you at the stables. I'm coming to Derdriu with you both."

"Of course. I presume I am to keep it a secret from Lorenz?"

"He's not gonna be happy about it. I thought you might not want to listen to him complain."

"How very thoughtful. You have changed your mind about me?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Not in the slightest. I've been in the library all week, there's nothing there... But Lorenz said he trusted you, and so I made a promise to him to treat you like you were an ally."

"Risky. But I also could have killed you many times over by now. By that standard alone I should maintain your-" There was a sharp press against the inside of her thigh, just above her artery.

"You could have tested your luck and died many times by now." Claude countered, the back side of a hidden knife grinding and inch away from a single nick that would spell certain death. "Try my faith. It will only happen once."

"You have made the mistake of believing I can or will fear you. Such tricks do not work on _my kind_; even your boldest speech is like the babble of a child to me." She remained placid, stepping away from the knife's press calmly. "I will inform you when we are leaving."

Lalia bowed perfunctorily, returning to Lorenz's suite. A smile touched the corners of her lips. _He does his best._

* * *

“Why are _you_ coming?” Lorenz asked of Claude, who was grimacing at his distaste for horseback to try and shame Lorenz to train in Wyvern Riding. The stables were quiet for mid afternoon, most of the hands taking their lunch.

“Why is _Morven_ coming?” Clearly Claude was not aware of the man’s intentions or he would have been excommunicated from the Estate and maybe the county. For now he asked with curiosity.

“I asked him to come, he has been indispensable the past few days. We all have business in the city.”

“I have business in the city too: keeping you away from Gloucester Hall and your father.”

“I am not so foolish.”

“You are.”

“Lalia would stop me.”

“Then I’m an extra precaution.”

They left the Estate with little conversation. Claude was now wary of Morven, suspicious of his interest in Lorenz, nor did he like Lalia; Lalia did not appreciate Claude's paranoia, but was more attuned to him than she was of Morven.

_Miserable travel companions. This journey will stretch into decades._ Lorenz urged his horse to go a little faster, the road flat and even enough for a steady pace. _The sooner the better._

Morven overtook Claude to take up beside Lorenz.

"Allow me to ride ahead, Lord Lorenz; in such precarious times an ambush may await."

"Naturally. I was being careless under the duress of the poor mood that hangs over our merry band."

"Ah, yes; I know my appointment to join you today has upset Lalia. And Claude it seems." Morven's words spoke of concern, but his voice was at ease. Amused even. Lorenz looked back to see their attitude had only darkened at Morven's initiative.

"Do you feel the daggers Claude is staring into your back?"

"No, they must be dull." Lorenz chuckled lightly.

While they took up conversation, Lalia looked to Claude solemnly: despite their earlier dispute, they were united in their suspicion. She steered her horse closer to Claude.

"I had no idea Morven had so quickly become 'indispensable' in a matter of two days." She whispered. "Tell me more about him."

"He came from the Kingdom five years ago, traveling as a merc. Found he had a knack for espionage, and so worked his way up in Derdriu as a Butler, before being hired at House Riegan a year ago. Claims he wants to 'help the Alliance' by aiding our House." Claude paused "And he taught me a few of my better ax techniques. He also handles the venomous animals."

"...Venomous animals?"

"Yep: snakes, spiders, scorpions, you name it. He makes antivenin."

"...He was the front for the Benettos spies."

"He was, but that also means we've looked into him more thoroughly. Everything checks out; we can't fault one man against five spies."

"Fair." Lalia conceded. Five spies could not outdo _her_ in her own house, but she gave younger servants the benefit of the doubt. Reluctantly.

"The real question: where have _you_ been that Lorenz was left alone long enough to mingle without your notice?"

"I suppose now is a prudent time to inform you I've been doing my own investigation of your House."

"You aren't helping your case for my trust, Lalia."

"... I am aware. But it is my duty. Servants, Maids and Butlers, all keep tabs on one another: a system of checks and balances of a sort. As the only Maid of the legitimate branch of House Gloucester in an Estate that staffs 300 or more, that keeps me busy." _Damned. This would be much easier if he and the Duke were not so intent to be at odds. The House divided is making it weak._

Lalia left the conversation unresolved, moving to join Lorenz and Morven.

"... and so then, right after the lady in question rejected my earnest advances, Sylvain made an absolute fool of himself stringing together empty words like a parrot. I was so embarrassed for him."

"It is hard to imagine one of Edelgard's generals was once such a source of entertainment. It is a wonder we humans can find time to fight when there is so much joy to be had in the world."

"My thoughts exactly. Humanity could truly reach its finest form if people did not take offense so eagerly, or try to press their will onto others. If we could just... let it be."

"A sentiment unfortunately only afforded to nobles, I am afraid. Life antagonizes the weak and poor much more harshly."

"Of course it does; but we can relieve that sort of natural strife, if we could only stop fighting long enough- but Edelgard does not even maintain that excuse." He was glowing as he always did when speaking of the possibilities he wished to bestow on the common folk.

"What makes you believe Edelgard is not weak?" Morven offered for thought. The question was provocative: the woman commanded the most offensive Army Fodlan had seen in centuries. Lorenz had never considered it was a feint for some hidden flaw.

Lalia cleared her throat.

"Lord Lorenz. What other business do we have in the city?"

"After we have met with Jericho, we will bide our time until Morven has finished investigating the Bank."

"The Bank?"

"It was my intention to inform you-" he turned his head back momentarily "-and you Claude!" before resuming position "-that Morven has volunteered to infiltrate the Benettos Vault alone. He must scout ahead." Claude finally joined them instead of pouting in the back.

"You should have told me this sooner. I thought you said the vault was too dangerous; you wouldn't send anyone in?"

"I demanded the opportunity to aid you both." Morven answered.

"A little too eager." Lalia added.

"I don't like it either. We're calling this off for today; no one is going to the Bank unless you, Lorenz, want to withdraw something."

Morven made a face of malcontent, but offered nothing of argument.

"I do need to withdraw from the bank. And I want to go shopping. And find a barber." He smoothed his hair back, still unused to the ponytail. "Of course Claude, if you call off Morven's investigation, I will not go against your wishes- I am here for_ your_ benefit. However, remember that you said only a few days ago that this may give us leverage... possibly keeping me safer in my meeting with Lord Adalius."

Claude looked at him suspiciously; Lorenz knew his safety was a weak point and he used it.

"We'll move forward with your plan for now. But don't keep anything like that from me again."

Morven tried to deflect Claude's displeasure:

"Forgive me, Lord Claude: this was my eagerness and so my mistake. I will be sure to inform you in the future. It was a happenstance arrangement made while Lord Lorenz and I sparred."

"I don't blame you, Morven. This was Lorenz's failing."

The pleasant mood Morven and Lorenz drummed up in conversation was ruined; the remainder of the ride might have passed in silence if the Butler was not so determined to be amiable. Claude and Lalia again fell back to brood between themselves as Morven dominated Lorenz's attention.


	24. Morven's Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-18-2020

They arrived in Derdriu, a fetid air seeming to hang over the city. Even the clear canals seemed to be swirling with filth; perhaps they always had and Lorenz simply did not remember it so. The destination to yet another funeral may have poisoned his vision.

_My only hope is that this funeral does not entail any horrifying rites. The Anderton family does not seem the blood mage type._ The attempt to jest had only reminded him of the Benettos, making him nauseous.

"Are you well, My Lord?" Morven asked.

"I am loathe to view another casket. That is all." Morven had kept him in good company for their journey. They spoke of many subjects, conversing the entire journey without pause: Lorenz began to feel more assured of his usefulness... He tried to maintain a degree of caution, but the man was charming, interesting, new. _Nearly too good to be true- A man you wish to let your guard down around is the most suspect. Claude is a fine example of trust gone awry._ Lorenz fell back to Lalia, who was fuming silently.

They passed under the ancient city gates to find they were not the only ones affected by a dour mood. The city was usually bustling, but now the few people about talked in whispers, looking over their shoulders suspiciously.

"Perhaps my father's presence is the cause of such anxiety." Lorenz wondered aloud. "Regardless of his will, he now represents the Empire's presence I suppose."

"It can't be just that." Claude scanned the people looking out from windows. "Something else is wrong."

"That is a mystery to be sure, but not one I am concerned with. With your leave, Lord Lorenz, I will depart for the Bank at once."

"Yes, be on your way- and do not take any unnecessary risks. Recall that you assured me you would not be caught."

"Of course, My Lord." As soon as he was out of earshot, Claude and Lalia both started in on Lorenz.

"I must advise against such closeness with Morven-" Lalia began.

"Reckless, talking like gossips for miles. He could be learning anything from you even if it doesn't seem like it-" Claude added his paranoid delusions to the mix, jealousy giving his reprimand more bite than it should have.

"You can both cease your nagging, I see you are of one mind on this matter. It was a well enough endeavor if it has brought you two so close. Butler Morven has asked to join the _legitimate_ House Gloucester, and I cannot ascertain his intentions if I keep him at shouting distance. I was in no danger: you were both present for the duration of the journey, as I am aware. The two of you are merely possessive of your roles in my life and see that may now have less space to keep your grip on me."

"Wait, what role of mine is he taking?" Claude's eyebrows furrowed with the scant few areas in which a singular, powerless Butler could replace him. He did not like the answers that came to mind immediately.

"Never mind. I am older than you, Claude, and a better negotiator. And Lalia, you are my retainer- not my nursemaid. I will make my own decisions at my discretion without you two fussing over me. I am a Lord, and soon enough I will maintain the title of Count. Believe me when I say I have the head for it, and that includes, by saints, speaking to people without your permission or your chaperone." Both had the sense to at least feign some sort of shame- but Claude could not let it go.

"You're too trustworthy." He accused.

"That is rich coming from you, a man I consider one of my closest friends and yet suspect on every occasion that misfortune befalls me. Genial conversation is not trust, your irritation is blinding you to the banality of common civility. I assure you, I only trust Lalia."

This quelled her own fears only slightly, but neither of their distrust abated.

"You are behaving like children who all want to play with me at once. Grow up." Lorenz added before turning away sharply. He held his head up as he steered his horse toward the Anderton's Home.

"We must go to the market first. You are going the wrong way." Lalia pointed out flatly.

"I suppose we should take some offering." Lorenz was embarrassed to have forgotten in his haste to scold them both, but would not behave the part.

"Aaand then to the Riegan Apartment. Like we planned... to change into something more appropriate, less horse-y."

“It had slipped my mind between your tempter tantrums. Let us be off.”

He turned his horse abruptly to take the lead.

When they arrived, the shops and market were likewise poorly attended.

The scoured a half empty booths and storefronts for some gift that would no doubt do very little to bring Jericho and his daughters any reprieve; but it was courtesy. Lorenz shied away from flowers, assuming their house was already smothered with them, and knowing when they rotted in a few days it would only dishearten the family. Lord Lorenz Hellman Gloucester would not give something so banal.

"Claude, you cannot gift knives to children for a funeral." He heard Lalia chiding behind him.

"You're right. I'm only trying to buy them a knife because_ I_ want a knife." Claude paid the dealer and pocketed yet another blade. _How many does he keep by now, I wonder?_

Lorenz wandered along the storefronts. There seemed to be a dearth of flowers. _Chocolate._ His subconscious answered his need with no instigation. _Little girls, chocolates._ He turned to find his companions.

"Lalia, to the chocolatier." She raised her eyebrows.

"No fair, that's perfect. What am I supposed to get?" Claude whined.

"You count yourself the most clever of men alive, do not ask me."

Lalia came to his rescue.

“Food is always appropriate.”

They visited Riegan Hall- the twenty room hall so quaintly mislabeled an ’apartment’- to change briefly, and carried on their way.

* * *

Morven wound his way to the center of Derdriu. He had some time before meeting his contact, and did not want to head so directly to the central bankhouse; not that it was likely he would be followed, but his employ bred certain cautions into his nature.

When he did arrive the bank was near closing. There were many, plenty of side entrances, under entrances, not all of them unintentional. The bank harbored their own guard forces underground, unknown to the city at large. Large enough to challenge a moderate house. Large enough to seek out debtors.

But the front door would do.

Despite his imposing presence, he was visible so rarely in public that anyone taking notice would not see him again for some time to recall him. _Unless I am enjoined with House Gloucester, and begin acting in Lorenz's public interests_. He would rethink his tactics in such an event, but for now he was rare enough to be forgettable.

He loathed the courtyard, wasted space in a crowded city, and loathed more the pomp: not his style. Too showy for an institution whose goal was to facilitate the contractual robbery of the rich and poor alike. They had not even the decency for shame.

Despite this, he worked with Lord Morley frequently, to great success and heavy bags of coins which he stored elsewhere lest the Vaultiers begin to skim off of the top. He approached the front desk.

"Please inform Lord Morley his five o'clock meeting has arrived." The five o'clock meeting, after the bank closed, was a code reserved for guests of import. The woman nodded absently, leaving the desk to inform a novice attendant, who left to deliver the message. Morven waited patiently as the Bank emptied of it's patrons and employ. The attendant returned to escort him.

"This way, My Lord." He said nervously.

"I am not a Lord. Emory is fine."

"Yes, Mr. Emory."

They ascended regal stairs, expertly hidden from the view of the vaultroom floor. Lord Morley's office was on the third floor, just above the private offices of his subordinates. The attendant rapped on the door twice, opened it, and closed the door behind Morven when he entered.

"Emory. My time is brief, please make your needs concise." Lord Morely was busy with some paperwork. Morven waited for him to finish. "I said go on."

"Your full attention will suffice, Lord Morley." The Bank Owner looked up him, contemptuous, but decided to entertain Morven's ego for the time being.

"Go on."

"I need to break into the vaults."

"That is _not_ part of our bargain."

"It will absolve you; I cannot merely ask you the contents of this particular vault. What do you know of the Benettos?" Lord Morley put his pen down now, and straightened.

"I know even asking about it is dangerous."

"Then I will speak no more on the matter. Expect to be infiltrated. If it goes awry, if I am impeded, I let loose your little plot for the Andertons." Morven smiled kindly. "Or perhaps the person you send after me this time will get the job done. How many is it now?"

"I would take the risk of my reputation on the Andertons. But I will not, cannot allow the Benettos vault to be compromised- clearly you understand why."

"It is not my concern."

"Then I will be forced to stop you."

"Do you think you can?"

"I will tell them, the Benettos- I will tell them who is after their vault and where to find you."

"Where will I be found, Morley?" Morley pursed his lips: he was bluffing.

"_Lord_ Morley, you impudent fool. They will find you. And good riddance." He was seething. "What does this damned vault matter anyway- who is it for? Duke Riegan? Edmund? Or has that battle-brained Goneril stumbled onto a something by happenstance?"

"Does it matter?"

Morley stood, putting his papers away into a safe, and striding across the room.

"I promise nothing. Get out- I have a funeral to attend."


	25. Another Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 2-24-2020

The Anderton House was busy, but not full. Enough that the modest hitching post in the front was crowded: the house itself, however, was just large enough to seem too empty for a funeral. 

"Thank you for visiting, Lord Gloucester, but I was not expecting... I mean, you are more than welcome, Lord Riegan."

"I'm sorry to come uninvited, Mr. Jericho. When Lorenz received the letter at our Estate, I thought it would be remiss not to offer my sympathies as well."

"That is very gracious but... I would not expect you to bother with the funeral of a mere Vaultier's wife."

"Really, it's nothing. Please don't concern yourself with me, you have enough on your head."

"Yes. It has been a heavy week." He darted his eyes at Lorenz, implying there was more to be said. "The sitting room is to your left here, the viewing is to the right. Perhaps we could meet in the Library upstairs in half an hour?"

"Of course; I will meet you in due time." Lorenz placed a hand softly on his shoulder. "Thank you for such warm hospitality even in your time of mourning." The man simply nodded.

It may as well be a day at the bank: the only visitors seemed to be coworkers, varying degrees of bored and annoyed at the function. Claude and Lorenz already knew his extended family was distant, and so could not arrive for weeks; the event being held today was merely propriety. The air was stuffy, and too many people were laughing at their own jokes as they traded witticisms nearby Jericho's late wife.

When Jericho was out of earshot, Lorenz turned to Claude. "It is always a terrible duty; that you must play host to your own mourning. He should be with his daughters."

"Speaking of- I don't see them." There were many people in the house, but the daughters were not among them. "Maybe they're hiding from all the pleasantries."

"It is one of the most degrading trials of losing a parent. The self comforting, wishful nonsense. Repugnant. I would hide away as well."

Claude wondered what Lorenz was like when he was little; he was only aware he lost his mother, but knew nothing of the details. He though to see if he could ask around- then realized he could try speaking to Lorenz instead of investigating him from a distance.

"Was it like that for you?"

"Oh yes. Such misery I have only felt three or four times in my life. 'She's watching you, Young Master Lorenz, so behave.' Or the worst: 'She's still here with you.' I had nightmares for years of my mother being trapped in the casket."

"That's... bad."

"People grieve in strange ways, but the most egocentric among them impress their confused babbling comforts onto a child. They think they are an example of strength when really they are only using such children as an outlet for fear of their own mortality."

"I can't imagine."

"You have never lost anyone close to you?"

"... Not that a funeral was held for, no."

"My apologies. That was insensitive."

"No, it's okay. Should we go view the casket?" Lorenz's head bobbed strangely, as though he were trying to see through a wall. He dropped his voice:

"We should go where Lord Morley goes." They watched the bank owner stride in, self important, ready to display his gracious mourning for everyone to see. He dropped a hand hard onto Jericho's shoulder, nearly crumpling the man, his face so twisted in sympathy that it was clearly put on.

"This is a wretched show to watch. Perhaps we should rescue the poor Vaultier." Lorenz suggested.

"I got an idea. I'll go agitate Lord Morley, you go upstairs and wait for Jericho."

"Magnificient. I am sure your presence will unsteady him at least." Lorenz waited to see what Claude would do, and to make sure Lord Morley did not see either of them ascend the staircase.

On his approach, Claude caught an earful of Morley's idea of empathy.

"It was truly her time, suffering for years was miserable for you."

"Actually, sir, I quite enjoyed what years we had together. I would not have sent her off a day sooner." Jericho was beside himself with a mixture of barely concealed hatred and fatigue.

"But it must have been such a burden; why, I remember when your own health was not so compromised. I look forward to your returning to a more suitable pallor." Jericho looked on, unable to lash out against his employer's insensitive remarks. "Where are my goddaughters, then? Perhaps seeing Uncle Rowan will raise their spirits."

_Goddaughters? Jericho did say their families were close at some point, but it sounds almost like they were inseparable._

Claude dropped a hand on Morley's shoulder, much in the same rude gesture he had unleashed on Jericho, startling him.

"You know, I had a pet die once when I was a kid. Someone tried to bribe me out of being sad, with candy, and I bit them."

"Lord Riegan. What a peculiar anecdote for such a somber occasion." Morley remained even, but his eyes darted around momentarily, searching for a reason Claude might come to such a ordinary affair. "What brings our futureDuke into a common household?"

Claude walked around Morley casually, to direct his attention away from Lorenz so he could make his way to the stairs.

"I was passing by, and we saw the Black Ribbons. I'm acquainted with Jericho through the bank, so I stopped to offer my sympathies. No house, no person is so common that I do not share in their mourning: all life is precious."

"That is very sentimental of you."

"I do pride myself on being _humble_. Other, less powerful men could stand to be like me.”

He exchanged concealed barbs with Morley over and again while Lorenz made for the stairs.

* * *

Lorenz took the steps three at a time to avoid being seen. They were so much narrower, shallower than the stately stairs he was accustomed to; reaching the top, he almost barreled into Gala running down the hall.

In a state of distress, emotions no doubt brought to their most severe by her mother's passing, a minor crest of Daphnel glowed above her heart.

_So it is Gala. I believed Jericho said it was a Major Crest, but perhaps mistakes were made in their secrecy._

"Hello, young Lady-" Lorenz began, before Dina burst through an open door.

"You have to come back, Gala, you'll get in trouble."

"No! I want to see mother!" Her shouts could no doubt be heard down stairs.

Lorenz scooped the girl up.

"It is dangerous down there as of yet. So many nosy adults wanting to tell you how very sorry they are." He passed through the open doorway to find a shared room. Dina followed, eyes red, but stern. Suspicious. She closed the door behind them.

He put the girl down on the bed that seemed to be suited for a younger sister, when Dina pulled her training sword on him.

"Father says no one is supposed to know about my crest, that's why we have to stay up here. I cannot let you tell anyone."

Lorenz wanted to laugh, but she was so very serious, and grieving. He could not so belittle a maiden trying to protect her sister. _She said 'my' crest... not Gala's?_

"I am a friend of your father's- he already told me about... _your_ crest. One crest." He made his way to a pink wing-backed chair to sit; perhaps she would find him less intimidating at ease. She approached him, raising her sword after studying him for only a split second.

"I'm sorry I have to do this." The little knight swung her sword at Lorenz's head to silence him for good: a Major Crest of Daphnel flaring in her rage, lighting the sword's weak, wooden arc.

Lorenz blocked, to the tune of a new bruise on his forearm, and seized the sword. She was close enough for him to notice a bite mark on her face. "So you have the Major Crest... But what about your sister?"

"I don't know, it just happened today. I haven't been able to tell father yet." She pulled on the sword weakly; she gave up when Lorenz continued to smile politely at her, refusing to relinquish it. She sat in the floor, tucking her head against her knees. "Why are _you_ here?"

"I have come to offer _earnest _sympathies." He removed the box of chocolates from a pouch on his belt. "Small condolences that will not help in the slightest. But chocolate always tastes good." Dina ignored the boxes in his hand, but Gala peeked from where her face was buried in the blankets at the word 'chocolate.'

"No, I meant why are you in our room." Dina pressed.

He was not sure himself how he ended up in this awkward situation, so he changed the subject.

"You have been bitten."

"She said mother loved her more, so I hit her and told her she loved us both the same, and so she bit me and ran into the hall."

"This is no time to come to blows." Lorenz said sadly. He could not understand such sibling rivalry, but he could understand the anger that came with mourning.

The younger girl mumbled into her bed.

"Beg your pardon, my Lady?" She turned her head, trailing snot across her sheets.

"I read a story where a boy loses his mother, and she loved him so much she visited his dreams every night. She can only be in one place at once, and I want her to come back to _me_."

"That's just a stupid book, Gala. Mom's dead." She said angrily, her voice breaking.

"Eeeuuhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnn" the little girl took again to sobbing.

_Ah, I find myself in the same precarious position I have faulted other 'adults' for fumbling._ He placed the chocolates on a petite princess dresser, kneeling by Gala’s bedside.

"A mother's love is boundless. That cannot be diminished. My mother visited me in my dreams all the time.” He looked to Dina as she pouted “It was _much_ like a storybook: each dream another chapter recalling a wonderful time when we were together." He left out the gruesome detail that she visited him in nightmares, shaking the coffin from where she 'watched over him' making sure he 'behaved."

"You mother is dead?" Dina asked bluntly.

"Yes, a long time ago, when I was smaller than both of you."

"I'm sorry." Disna's face curled up in renewed anguish, and she put her face in a pillow. Gala was now only sniffling, recovering only to prepare for the next breakdown.

"... Mother can come see us both?"

"Yes. Dreams come from your heart, where she poured in so much love over the years that you will never, ever run out: even if you dream of her every night."

"Okay." He hoped the girls would come to apologies later, but now was no time to force courtesy.

"Your father needs you both to stay up here. There is a man downstairs who is not so nice." Lorenz rose from the floor to leave.

"Who?" Disna demanded.

"One devious and mysterious Lord Banker."

"... Uncle Rowan?"

"Uncle?".

"He's our Godfather." Disna stated, as though it was common knowledge and Lorenz was a simpleton for being ignorant of their private family affairs.

"Or course." The new revelation made him nervous. He was interrupted from his thoughts by a soft voice.

"Are you going to see father? Tell him I don't want anybody in our house anymore." Gala whimpered. "I'm hungry."

"I will go meet with your father, and I will command him to come here straight after." He bowed. "You have my word, Lady Gala, Ser Dina." Dina's chest swelled; she nodded solemnly.

He emerged into the hall just in time to meet Jericho

"I’ve been looking for you- what in Hel's name are you doing in my daughters room?!" He pitched in a low whisper, ever suspicious.

"Averting a crisis." Lorenz motioned to the private study. After they entered, he continued "Gala ran unto the hall and her crest was visible." He waited for a reaction. Jericho almost did not realize what Lorenz had said, but then a look of confusion crossed his face.

"You mean Dina ran into the hall."

"Not at all. Dina informed me Gala has a new crest you do not know about... and I regret to confirm it."

"Oh no. No, no, no." He ran his hands through his sparse hair. "I knew that they rarely manifested later in childhood but... oh no."

"Your situation has become more dangerous; tenfold. Lord Claude and I have been talking-"

"Lord Claude. I was disconcerted to learn you were at the Riegan Estate. What does he have to do with this?"

"Suffice it to say, he is currently my benefactor. Or was. I can move on my own with the wealth you have secured for me. Regardless, I am his... adviser. And Gloucester Hall is occupied by my father at present."

"How fool of me; I forgot the Roundtable is in a few days. But you say I am in _more_ danger?"

"We have surmised that Lord Morley may have been waiting for your wife's passing... One less parent to contend with. We also believe it is not unlikely he know's of your daughter's crests. You neglected to mention he was their God Father."

"He isn't! When we were still- Before we became alienated from one another, before I was a Vaultier and he my employer, he came around all the time, putting the idea into their heads whenever he could. My wife even..." He choked a little "... she thought it was cute, and allowed it to continue. It is a self-granted title and now my girls call him 'uncle.'" His irritation was evident, but there was something else underneath. It bothered Lorenz. "Legally speaking, he is nothing to them!"

"Jericho... I despise discussing such matters during such a tragic time. I want to apologize for that foremost." _But there is some vital information you are not divulging._ Lorenz could not bring himself to say it. He trusted that if it was a matter that his life depended on, he would have shared it. “We must only discuss the plan for your daughters, then I will leave you to-”

There came a knock on the door. They both tensed; the wrong person finding them in private meeting would suspect- correctly- that Lorenz was meddling in bank affairs.

“It’s me, Claude.” Lorenz breathed a sigh of relief, but the Vaultier still had his misgivings.

“Come in, Claude.”

He let himself in, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Lord Morley left. I chased him out with... polite conversation.”

“Thank you for that.” Jericho said, relieved. “Lord Lorenz was just about to tell me what the plan is for protecting my daughters.” He inclined his head for him to continue.

“Right. This may seem like a heinously simple solution but... They each have a crest of Daphnel-”

“_Each_?!” Claude interrupted in disbelief.

“Hush, Claude. They are both of Daphnel so... return them to their ancestral House. You have no extended family on your wife’s side- they were all sickly in her same manner. Your own present family is elderly; your sisters are in the Empire.”

“Yes... that is correct. But House Daphnel is in decline.” Jericho worried.

“Well yes... despite what rumors you have heard, ‘in decline’ for a major House is still well beyond your own standing, I assure you. The House Head, Judith Daphnel, is also a close ally of Claude’s. Your daughters will be safe, cared for, and likely become very respectable Ladies and even Knights.”

“Right... so when the time comes...” He leaned forward lacing his hands. “Yes, I think this would be best.” Lorenz and Claude exchanged hesitant glances. Claude took the conversation from there, moving closer to lean against the chair Lorenz was seated in.

“We actually agreed it would be best if we sent your daughters now.”

Jericho’s head shot up from where it was hung deep in thought.

“Now? They’ve only just lost their mother... to separate us...” He could not continue the sad thought.

“I hesitate.... to be so indelicate, Vaultier Jericho... but suppose that you are murdered in cold blood for a chance at your daughter’s adoption. Do you truly want them to be here?”

Jericho turned pale. Claude tried to alleviate the macabre thought:

“Besides that, if they aren’t around at all, it might make anyone who knows their secret change their plans. Why target _you_ when Dina and Gala are already secured in House Daphnel? This would go a long way to preserving your life... you could live to see them grow up, being separated for a short while.”

“In time, we might even consider announcing their crests as a measure of protection against any antagonizers whose plans rely on the concealed nature of their crests.”

They waited on Jericho to absorb the information. He shifted uncomfortable in his chair again and again.

“Is now... tomorrow? Next week?”

“Judith is passing through Derdriu in three days: for the Roundtable. They would leave with her after that.”

“Goddess...” He ran his hand again through his hair in distress. “I did ask for help. If this... if this is what will keep them safe, I cannot refuse. But I cannot say I am grateful that the solution is to take them away.”

“It would be cruel to expect as much.” Lorenz leaned across the desk that divided them, and took his hand. “You have my word that though they may remain in house Daphnel, I will take responsibility for their well being for the duration of my life.”

“Lord Lorenz. You are too sincere for the cruel times in which you have found yourself... Thank you. Please, contact me when you are ready for them.”

“We will.” Claude answered. “Don’t make any preparations. Don’t tell your daughters. Their safety depends on secrecy.”

“I understand... please, I wish to be alone now.” Lorenz stood, taking a regal tone.

“I am sorry Jericho, but that will not do. Your daughters are waiting for you; I informed miss Gala I would command you to come to them right away.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

The key to his vault was nearly forgotten, Jericho sliding it across the desk at the last moment.

* * *

Claude and Lorenz exited the room together while Jericho recovered, to find Morley leaving Dina and Gala's bedchamber. Claude grew angry. _That bastard came back after making such a scene of leaving. Son of a bi-_

"Lorenz, a pleasure to see you."

"Likewise, Lord Morley. Forcing your vain condolences on Dina and Gala during their time of mourning?" He said icily.

"I beg your pardon? I have not seen my Goddaughters in some time, my sympathies are all I have to offer. It is such a shame that I would only find time on such a morose occasion; I do so hate to see them despondent." Lorenz did not doubt Morley had seen at least Gala’s crest; on the edge already, if Dina became agitated at all, he would have seen both. _By his tone... No, he already knew of the one. He came here to see for himself. He's pleased- and surprised. Ready to make a move. _

Claude sensed this as well, and began talking his way into insinuating that Lord Morley's intentions were already compromised.

"Jericho was just telling us what a talent both girls had for-"

“Actually, we were just leaving. We have time-sensitive business to attend to. My apologies.” Lorenz urged Claude down the stairs.

Outside, Claude challenged him.

“If I could have let him know we were on to him, it might make him hesitate.”

“It may also inspire him to act more urgently. I am sure he saw our comprehension written in our reaction; but if you put words to suspicions, you would confirm them. A look can be misinterpreted, a statement is a threat.”

“Exactly- I _want_ to threaten him.” Claude argued.

“Now is not the time, and you do not strike the fear you might when you are the Duke. The Lords still see you as a precocious boy.” Claude bristled. “Oh, do not be so offended, even towering over the majority of them I am still treated likewise... I will send Lalia back tonight: she can stay with them for the remaining days until they depart for Daphnel.”

They made their way back to Riegan Hall, too late now to return to the Estate.


	26. The Second Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Graphic Skin Gore/Trauma Description in last section.

To compare Riegan Hall to Gloucester Hall would be an exercise in embarrassment. While House Gloucester had for centuries been opposed to, and competitive with, House Riegan, the extravagance of a mere satellite house easily put the matter of wealth to rest.

It tripled the six bedroom Gloucester Hall with ease. Where Lorenz's city home was all graceful arches and embellishment, Riegan Hall was much like the Estate: no frills, sturdy, solid. The obsession with dark wood continued to the Hall, with chair rails, banisters, frames and furniture all glossy and polished cherry wood. It seemed as solid as the low cliff it was set on, as if carved from the rock, a sentry to watch over Derdriu until the fall of man.

Servants welcomed them, the Hall staffed in continuity in the event that any Riegan or a guest of theirs required lodging for the night. Lorenz began to wonder, bitterly, why he had not been offered the choice of the Hall instead of being conducted such a distance to the Riegan Estate. _Why do I wonder; he wanted to keep an eye on me, trap me, or both. It is not truly such a mystery, but he will hear of it when it is appropriate._

"We've taken up responsibility for two soon-to-be orphans so that you could get spending money." Claude mused on the uneven exchange with Jericho as they sat in the tidy tea room at Riegan Hall.

"There is no 'we;' you are merely a temporary accomplice. The deal with Jericho did not pan out as needed, but while he lives he may yet aid us. And they are not orphans, they are two talented little girls who need protection. Citizens of your nation. Allies in waiting."

"I wasn't complaining; its inequitable now, but not unimportant."

"At times you gamble high. If Jericho would have come to either of us without anything to offer, I know I at least would have taken responsibility regardless."

"Would you if one of them did not have a crest?"

"... Without the mention of a crest, I might have believed he was more infirm in the mind: paranoid. Neither girl is less valuable without a crest, but the presence of such a marker for power is what necessitated Jericho's reaching out for help. The crests ascribe hardship and danger; they have no bearing on the inherent value of a person."

"A politician’s answer."

"Any moral or political stances that are black and white do not account for human factors and the complexity of life. They are tactical lies and I am an honest man."

Lorenz realized he had forgotten something important.

"Does Morven know to meet us here?" He asked. He did not know they would return to the apartments; the man might show up to the Anderton's home and frighten the grieving family. With his black attire, he would look as though death came to visit again.

"Not my problem. You didn't tell me about Morven, and the apartment slipped my mind. He'll return to the Riegan Estate on his own."

"That is a frightfully hostile attitude to take towards one of your own employ."

"Yeah, well, I've got new reasons to suspect him."

This did not satisfy Lorenz, but with Lalia sent away to guard the Andertons, there was no one in Riegan Hall to send out after him who knew what he looked like.

* * *

The accommodations were luxurious enough, but Lorenz had developed a recent habit of not sleeping more than a few hours at a time. He left his room as the hall clock quietly counted two by its muted chimes. He intended to walk the house to sooth the nerves, though his lack of energy did not match his racing thoughts. Each step was a chore. _I may... prepare some tea. The steeping, stirring, and warmth may lull me into a calm-_

A whimpering carried down the hall. It startled him at first, but he then considered the number of servants who lived here weeks and months without supervision. _No doubt some ongoing tryst. Scandal._

He continued on his way. The whimpering stopped abruptly. As he passed Claude's door, it began again, loud from the other side. He was initially incensed, but then he considered Claude's paranoid nature._ Unlikely there is anyone here he would bother with. But if that is the case..._

Lorenz placed his ear to the door.

"Aintazar...Aintazar..." Claude's voice, morose and heavy with accent rose from beyond the door. He mistook the soft cries for muffled passions from a distance... pressed against the cold wood, he could hear fear in between the foreign words. _Does... does the deer key work here as well, I wonder?_

It was with him, of course. He slid it from his pocket and tried the door handle. After a few poorly aimed thrusts in the low light, he managed to slide the key in. Twisting it gently, he started, surprised, when it clicked open.

It was too dark to see anything in the room, the windows drawn, the moon having long set. Lorenz decided not to light a lantern: it may startle him, and he could just make out the bed from the dim hall light. Lorenz felt his way across the hardwood, then over plush carpet: Claude's heavy breathing guiding him. He whispered when his knee bumped the edge of the bed.

"Claude?"

After a few moments with no response, Lorenz snaked one of his hands through the tangled sheets to try to find him.

"Eud 'iilay... Sawf Tamut" This came in a whimper, the hallmark of a nightmare. Lorenz pushed himself up to pat around: there, buried under what must have been two blankets and three pillows, was some resistance.

"Claude. Wake up." He pressed into the indistinct lump, then began to pull at the velvety soft sheets.

"'Abaq baeid eany!! Agh! 'Akhraj min bashrati!!!" Claude shouted, jerking away in response. His arm emerged and managed to seize Lorenz about the wrist: in the dark, he heard the distinct _shink_! of a knife being drawn from a scabbard. He pulled himself back and away, stumbling against a chair.

"_Glevo_! _Glevo_!" He waved his hand in panic, unable to concentrate. "_FUIR_!"

Glevo was too precise of a spell, but Fuir was reactive and instantaneous. Fire burst from his hand as he pointed it to the ceiling. In the firelight, he saw Claude crouched on the bed with a knife, unfocused, and well startled by the sudden fireball. While he was distracted, Lorenz swept his hand across the room to light the lanterns.

"_Fuir_!" They all ignited at once, two exploding due to his hasty casting. A guard broke down the door, two Maids pouring in behind him prepared for intruders.

"Wait, wait! It's Claude! _UndFuir_!" Lorenz raised his hands to absorb the fire breaking out, then in front of him as the maid began to sling bladed stars toward his head. He deflected one and dodged the other before she registered his claim. She raised another star, unwilling to believe him.

Claude's eyes were wild; he launched the knife instinctively at Lorenz's 'attacker.' Unfortunately, even in such a state he was an expert marksman. The foremost guard was too encumbered to react, the attacking maid raised her arm just in time: the knife lodged in her forearm instead of her face.

"Aaagh!"

At the maid's cry, Claude seemed to come back to reality.

"W... Where? Were we... attacked?"

"_We_ were attacked! You only half woke from a nightmare and took up a knife!" Lorenz shouted in distress, unable to maintain his volume. He wasn't versed well in healing, but he attended the maid for her valor. Claude looked at Lorenz in horror, then anger swept over his face.

"Get out!" He commanded the guards.

"You are not hurt, Lord Claude?" The injured maid asked, more concerned of her duty than her wound.

"No. Leave.” The genial mask he usually wore was gone. They filed out, the guard shutting the door as best he could with the frame around it shattered. Only Lorenz remained. Claude staggered from the bed, grabbing a chair and barricading the broken door.

"Claude, those guards were here to help you."

"No." Claude did not elaborate on what he meant, preoccupied with the shame that seemed to wash over him. He returned to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes tracing the geometric pattern of the carpet.

Lorenz stood in front of him.

"Lay down."

"I can't sleep after that."

"You will. Come." Lorenz ordered, crossing to the other side of the bed taking to the sheets himself: a bribe. He never did have terribly gruesome nightmares, not since childhood, but he could sympathize... And of course, Claude had no one such a Lalia; no one close enough that it would be reasonable to sleep in the same bed. _Now I know why he was always asking me to his room to sleep. Quite the reversal of pretense._

Claude relented, climbing up into the bed properly, burying himself in the duvets folds. He became lost once again, but Lorenz could sense his body, twisting, curling against the bed somewhere far away. He could feel through the air his every muscle tensed.

"As I recall, you used my fatigue as an excuse at Gloucester Hall to wrap yourself around me and drool in my hair. I assure you I am far too tired to fight you now." He invited indirectly.

"I said I wouldn't do that anymore."

Lorenz let him alone. But he could practically feel him humming with alarm. It was as though he could hear his eyes staring into the empty air, searching for enemies: he remained stark still, tensed, never slackening back into sleep.

_Perhaps I am crossing a line, but what else can be done? I would not wish to be left alone after such an episode. I am exhausted of option or care._ Lorenz swept his hand again across the room, "_UndFuir_" dimming the lanterns until they flickered out. He reached for where Claude's shoulder pressed upward through the sheets, guiding himself closer by the contact.

"What are you doing Lorenz..."

"Being a _good_ and _compassionate_ friend and _adviser_. Nothing more." When he found Claude's back, he was pleased to find also that there was a very handy sheet to separate them. _For my dignity's sake, at the very minimum_. Lorenz tucked himself against Claude at the chest.

"Adviser? So you're my adviser now..." Through the luxuriant cotton folds he felt Claude ease into him, shoulder's falling in relief. A long breath escaped him. His head rolled back into Lorenz's collarbone, unkempt mane tucking under his chin.

"Tentatively. I advise you first to _sleep_."

"... sacrificing yourself for that noble goal?" His casual humor returned to his voice, however empty.

"Aha. Something of the sort, for pity." Lorenz offered. "...Perhaps if you spoke candidly with me instead of posturing and terrorizing me all of the time, we could have arranged something earlier."

No answer.

Minutes passed, Claude still stirring in discomfort.

"Do you hate me?" He asked.

"Not yet. Counter to your nature, you have not thrown yourself passionately into earning my unflinching disdain: which is not a hard task to achieve. It is an area in which you are woefully deficient."

"That's a lot of words to say 'no'."

"Ego is a vain beast, and I must keep up my _own_ posture. Rest now."

* * *

  
They returned to the Riegan estate late the next morning: absent Morven, who either didn't think or didn't bother to come to the hall, as well as Lalia, who had been instructed to stay in the Andertons household until the Roundtable. _And where is Alvina? I never thought to ask why she is absent._

The ride was awkward and silent with Claude and Lorenz alone. Lorenz's capacity for compassion seemed to peak when he was deprived of sleep and filled with heartache: visiting with Dina and Gala had put him out of sorts, causing him to dwell on childhood memories that were painful. It was not surprising that he so eagerly attended Claude in his distress, but it was regrettable.

_Then again, perhaps the evening arrangement was more beneficial for me than I intended_ he considered. _I did sleep through the night finally... It is not unpleasant to sleep with _someone_ but given the circumstances it cannot happen again. Claude never can behave._

Lorenz played again in his head the progression of the morning that offered contrary evidence: despite their waking in a tangle of legs and arms, warm, aroused and breathing heavy, nothing came of it. Claude rolled from the bed when he came to his senses, making for the lavatory down the hall- enough time for Lorenz to escape. He briefly considered that he did not make for his own room in haste... laying in the bed for some time, making excuses: it was warm; too early; too soft; he wouldn't have time to leave before Claude returned. The thought that he was himself behaving so callously was unpleasant, and so he redirected his thoughts to more appropriate observations.

_Maybe it has finally happened- he respects me enough to belay his selfish, one sided wants._ The thought seemed rather cold, and it was becoming more obvious to Lorenz that many such thoughts were half-lies. _I might prefer a wyvern ride now to this tedious horseback journey. It would be shorter in duration and too loud to speak, too harrowing to even think._

"Thank you Lorenz." Claude offered without prompting.

"I am sure I have no idea what you are speaking of." Lorenz countered reflexively, defaulting to his comfortable feigned ignorance.

"...Right."

The steady clopping of hooves and wind in the trees filled the empty air again.

"We're going to have to talk about this someday." Claude said calmly, uncharacteristic of his usual roguish flourish.

"Please do not start. 'Someday' I will be in my own House, my own Estate, and you must needs fend for yourself. This will only be an issue so long as we remain unmarried and under the same roof."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"It is only proper. The war has set back our social goals; your wife should be stroking your hair in the early hours, not me."

"Or husband."

"Unlikely."

"Why?"

"With our noble crests and the dire need for heirs- must I really explain?"

"Is that why you-"

"Claude, I really do detest airing these issues. We can talk all we like, and society will remain unchanged. Put it to rest."

"You want to live like that?" Lorenz was beginning to walk abreast of Claude, but now he pulled his horse around, agitated, to face him.

"For the time being, I am more concerned about the war coming to our doorstep, two little girls who are in danger, my father who is at best a noble captive, at worst a traitor, our missing classmate, a house of blood mages- is it any wonder I want to ignore the only problem that is not threatening my life?"

"... It's the only problem we can solve right now." Claude said quietly.

"It is _not_."

"I'm not talking about society- I meant between you and me. It's a problem we can handle, together, on our own. A small victory; goddess knows we need it."

"This- you- I show you any sort of kindness and you turn it against me."

"I'm not turning anything against you, I just want to talk about it."

"No." Lorenz turned his horse back around, and galloped a few hundred feet. It would be foolish to ride an empty to road alone, but he could at least ride out of earshot.

Another half hour passed, Claude making his way back to Lorenz gradually. Having had time to cool, Lorenz realized he had other questions. Tired of pouting and languishing over their every exchange, he let the earlier conversation go: a skill he had become quite good at it lately.

"What were you having nightmares about?" He asked tentatively, looking ahead.

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"I told you about my childhood nightmares."

"Yeah, but you were what, seven?

"Six."

"I'm an adult. It's embarrassing."

"I do not think so; we have both witnessed some particularly cruel events in the past years."

"Yeah, I guess. How about this: tell me why you fainted. All of it."

"If I do, I will likely faint again. Perhaps when I am not on horseback."

Claude remained silent for a moment.

"It's usually about my parents. You remember Monica... how she looked so normal, but Kronya just crawled out of her face, out of her skin like it was just.... I don't know, a floppy coat?"

"_Eugh_. I try not to think about it, but I was also more distant than you when it happened."

"Yea, well, I dream that I go home. _All the way_ home. I see my parents sitting on the Royal Dais, and everything is normal-"

"The Royal Dais? Is that symbolic?"

"Uh, yeah, it's like... I put them on a pedestal- Not literal." Claude recovered, thankful for Lorenz's fondness for metaphors. "But they're up there, and their skin just splits along their joints and sloughs off. But then I look down, and it's me too: my skin starts peeling off. Like my body was taken over and I just... didn't notice."

"Dear Goddess... Claude, that is abhorrent. I am actually quite sorry that I asked."

"It's stupid."

"No- its traumatic. But now I can forgive you pulling a knife on me."

"The knife? That wasn't for you. That was to get them out of my skin."

"Oh." Lorenz looked as though he was going to be wretchedly ill. "That is disturbing."

"It's... something."

The conversation fell off for the duration of their trip back to the Riegan estate.


	27. Brief Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020

Lorenz woke on one of the library couches, to find Claude no longer sleeping on the couch opposite him. After their dark conversation topics the day before, they had meandered around the library together, reading... or pretending to read while actually brooding. Neither ever made a move to retire. Lorenz remembered sliding down into the couch inch by inch, reading something about the history of Ordelia county, when all at once he dropped off to sleep. He imagined the same happened to Claude: only a faint memory of him vacating the couch at dawn.

Lorenz emerged from his room, dressed, refreshed for the day. Feeling good. _I slept through the night on that couch. I may even have it moved to my room if it will help me rest. What am I to spend the next three days doing?_

A servant brought him an answer by message: Morven had returned, and would meet both Lorenz and Claude in one hour to report.

* * *

Morven, clad in black, only his blue eyes offering any memorable accent, stood at the head of the table.

"Per my contact, it seems that many Benettos family members hold their own vault, all under the same contract that Jericho mentioned: not to be opened for anyone, any reason, all arranged under Lord Morley. They are not listed under name in the open filing system, but number. My contact gave me a list-" he tossed an envelope onto the table "-Of who he believes is ascribed to each number.

"How would he know?" Claude was right to be skeptical, but his suspicions hinged also on his new distrust for Morven.

"Let us say he is well ingrained into the bank."

"Does he not fear for his life?" Lorenz worried more for the contact. "Was he informed of the danger, at least?"

"He is a reckless and yet forgettable man with nothing to lose. There is one important Benettos who seems to be missing from the list. By all accounts, Amory Benettos, one of the five children of Lord Adalius, should have a vault, but he does not. I have heard he is reclusive."

"Amory Benettos.... I do not even know which son that is; their lineage is so well concealed. Marco was known to be the third son, and he was 35."

"I would presume he prefers to keep his valuables close, out of public hands considering his apparent secretiveness. All speculation: he is the most elusive of the five remaining."

"This is all bad news... Anything useful could be in any one of the vaults. What do we know of the primary vault?" Lorenz asked.

"It was empty... save for one magical alarm. They know-"

"Nonsense! You mean to suggest you have already been inside the vault-" Lorenz interrupted.

"Never mind_ that_! You're saying they- The Benettos- know?" Claude interrupted Lorenz likewise, exasperated.

"Sorry, I have misspoken. They know Lord Morley has failed them. Rather convenient for our purposes."

"Convenient? No! This was not part of the plan! You were only supposed to scout!" Claude's voice rose.

"Scout I did, and a fortunate opportunity arose wherein I slipped into the vault without notice" He lied. "If there had not been some cursed object that wailed like a banshee upon entering, none would have been the wiser. But your concerns are unwarranted- there is nothing that could trace the break in back to House Riegan or House Gloucester."

"Except _you_." Claude accused.

"I was never seen."

He could find no fault in Morven's intentions. Angry as he was, Claude could admit he would take the same course of action if it seemed to be the only opportunity. The most controversial point was Lord Morley's endangerment: though it appeared now that he bore ill intent against the Andertons, it still went without evidence, and bringing the Benettos wrath down on him was too violent a punishment on mere speculation. That nothing was gained from the expedition was only more frustrating.

"Speaking of Lord Morley... I crossed paths with Alvina: she is coming back this evening to report." Morven offered, ready to dismiss his error.

"Where has she been?" Lorenz looked to Morven, then to Claude, confused.

"It slipped my mind; I sent Alvina to work for Morley since the other maid was, you know, 'compromised' by her infatuation."

"Praise the Goddess, Lalia has had far too much free time to worry over me... However, is Alvina _truly_ bright enough for that?" He had wondered where the maid had gone, but was not fond of her enough to remember to ask.

"She's bright enough to fool _you_, Lorenz, if you think her behavior is genuine. She's _awfully_ cute and clumsy, isn't she? Just a little _too_ helpless?"

"Well. Lalia herself is returning after securing new guard for the Andertons. She will be pleased to be reunited."

"I thought you told her to stay with the Andertons?"

"I had- she is a wreck about it, sure the Empire is at our gates. She refuses to leave me for as many days until the Roundtable. She has been on about 'the whispers in the shadows are in the defensive.' Whatever that means."

"It means the many voices of our network are bracing." Morven offered.

They considered at greater length the Benettos-Morley issue: but ascertaining any move the Benettos might make was near impossible. They could presume they were more cunning than rash; at most they were sure whatever punishment befell Morley- if they decided to punish him at all- would be swift, undetectable, and likely an 'accident.'

"We may gain more insight after I meet with Lord Adalius... and it would be prudent of them to bide their time until the Rountable has ended. Morley sits in the lower Echelon as a Major Lord under Riegan County... they will likely manipulate him rather than see to his death." Lorenz posited. _We are- I am all too quick to take the Benettos at their haunting visage and strange magic, but like Morley we have no true reason to believe they are such willing assassins. Desecrating a corpse is not tantamount to murder... sickening, but to each their traditions._ A chill still fell over Lorenz at the thought.

* * *

"You're going to learn to ride a wyvern." Claude announced when Morven left them from the meeting. Lorenz grimaced.

After a bit of bickering, he found himself ascending the Wyviary- the monumental tower that housed the Wyvern perches and the vaulting pads- while Claude rambled on about the joys of flying. When they arrived on the landing platform, some 100 feet high, Alev in waiting, Lorenz suddenly felt the desire to distract Claude from his plans.

"Is now truly the time? It is senseless that we even returned to the Estate- we could have remained in the apartments so I could maintain my communique with Lalia while she stayed with Jericho."

"Its kinda late for that, if she's on her way back already."

"Never mind- speaking of the apartments, why is that I could not have stayed there-"

Claude cut him off, walking over to Alev to demonstrate the saddle.

"-If we have to escape from Derdriu, for some reason, you should at least be able to mount on your own and strap yourself in. I'll let you borrow Alev- he's old enough that he'll do the rest of the work for you. This grandpa only wants to come right back to the Riegan Estate anyway. He could find his way in the dark."

"Do you think we will truly need to?"

"There are so many people coming to Derdriu for the Official Quarterly Rountable, it's the perfect time for the Empire to make any declarations or attacks. At least four of the Great Lords will be here- Count Ordelia remains unconfirmed. Hilda is returning with Margrave Edmund and Marianne. Even if the Empire doesn't move- House Benettos might well use their meeting with you to attack you." Claude frowned at the possibility.

"I feel I have done so very little to merit such retaliation, yet I suppose my name and presence alone incitement."

"In good news, I've gotten letters from Leonie, Raphael, and Ignatz, too."

"It will be lovely to see them again- but why are they coming to Derdriu?"

"Leonie is answering a request of mine. Raphael and Ignatz are merchants and potential knights: business is where people are."

"... and Lysithea?" Claude did not make an expression of remorse as Lorenz expected; he instead looked perplexed.

"Neither Judith or anyone I sent to the borders of Ordelia found anything. I think we can imagine she is safe in hiding. In fact, I've pulled back my people. If we find her, that information becomes a commodity; we're doing her a disservice by even looking. I had some of my men pass out false leads before calling them back." He stroked Alev absently, letting worry cross his face for only a moment. "But you're stalling- come now. Onto the wyvern."

"Very well." Lorenz crossed to Alev, holding his hand out to remind the wyvern they had met once before. Alev rumbled, and lay on the floor. Claude stifled a laugh. "Peculiar. Is he ill?" Lorenz asked.

"Haha, no! Wyverns are very intelligent and have a sharp memory. He thinks you can't climb up."

"... Well he is correct. What a generous creature." Alev laying, paired with Lorenz's stature, he was able to place his foot in the stirrup and pull himself over the saddle in one motion. Alev began to lift his head before Claude motioned him back down.

"Stay, Alev." Claude reached up to show Lorenz all the straps and buckles. "This one's over your calf, you wrap it around twice like this-" he pulled it tight enough to numb Lorenz's leg, but it still felt like paltry insurance against falling to his death "-this one's for your thigh. It goes around three times, but on the second wrap it loops though-" He found the outer strap, then reached in between Lorenz legs to find the other "-This piece."

"I beg your pardon!"

"What?" Claude was genuinely baffled, his whole mind set on saddle safety.

"No, go on." _He really meant nothing by it. Pity._ He looked down over Claude. "This is quite the view."

"Are you ready to talk about that yet, or are you going to keep flirting with me then yelling at me when I react?" Claude said without looking up.

"No- I just meant that you are beneath me- It was a joke-"

"It's not a joke when you're arrogant, or when you're a tease." _I would gladly be _beneath_ you._ He thought reflexively; Lorenz opened himself up for such easy teasing and it drove Claude _mad_.

"Do not speak to me." Lorenz demanded at last; Claude let out a sigh of frustration.

"Okay, try to do the other leg yourself." He walked around Alev so he could see that Lorenz was correctly wrapping his leg. "No, see, you were too busy fawning over me to pay attention. The calf is only twice. It's the thigh that is three times."

Lorenz tried at it again.

"Tighter. Pull it as tight as you can, then give it one last good jerk." He did as he was told.

"Okay, this goes around your waist and back." He held up something like a corset that latched onto the back of the saddle.

"What does it do?"

"It's a brace; it keeps you from whip-lashing so hard your spine snaps."

"I have never seen you wear it."

"It's for beginners, and for battle: mine is built into my armor. You usually don't need it, but it will help you train your muscles the right way." For this, Claude vaulted onto Alev's neck in front of the saddle to face Lorenz. The creature grumbled in impatience.

Claude pulled the brace around him, then began lacing the front.

"Make sure you can still breath, but pull it as tight as possible." Lorenz watched his fingers maneuver the laces, expertly threading them. He wondered how Claude managed not to slide down Alev's neck, and let his eyes wander down to his legs: clenched tight, but his feet hanging freely._ All muscle I suppose._

Lorenz's mouth suddenly felt very dry; he ran his tongue across his bottom lip.

"Look: these two buckles are the last step." They crossed over his shoulders, making an 'x' over his chest.

"I forgot such an apparatus was even necessary. My training was so long ago, and someone rode behind me."

"Rode behind you? That's not training."

"... How do you mean?"

"I mean you won't ever get it until you go it alone."

"... You _are_ coming with me." Lorenz commanded.

"Nope." Claude jumped down."Left and right directions are opposite-"

"Claude no! Get me down!"

"-Give him a kick when you want him to go faster, just like a horse-"

"I do not want to go fast- or high! How do I keep him from going high-"

"When you want him to land, pull back hard twice!"

"No!"

"Alev up!"

The beast trilled in anticipation, each shift of his muscles rocked Lorenz like an earthquake. _Like a horse, like a horse, just bigger, but bigger not like a horse. Too big-_ Lorenz chanted to himself.

"Alev's just gonna fly around a few times and come back! He's gotten lazy!" Claude now shouted up to Lorenz, ten or so feet above him.

"Is him standing up alone not enough trauma for the day?!" Lorenz bobbed back and forth as Alev unfurled his wings. "T-t-too high!"

"Stay straight! Don't waver or he won't like you! Just! Like! A Horse!"

"Just like a huuaaaaaahh!!!" Alev began walking toward the vaulting platform that gave him a clear wingspan for takeoff. He climbed up lazily instead of jumping, then let out a brief roar.

"RRrroorororrrrraaaaaaaargh!"

"AaaaaaAAAAAAGGHGHHHH!" Lorenz replied as Alev began to beat his wings, leaping forward to ascend.

Before, Lorenz had Claude in front of him; someone to cling to. Much as he desired to fall forward and hold on to Alev's neck now, the brace held him upright; he could only close his eyes.

_Rising and descending was the worst part, if memory serves. But how will I know if he is going too high? When do I know to stop him?!_ He considered that all of his problems would be solved if he died from the drop in temperature over the the clouds- which may well be easier than opening his eyes.

_Just one, just one, just a little bit-_ He opened his left eye, difficult against the wind. He could see Alev's shoulder, but not much else. He looked around carefully. _I cannot tell... I will have to look down to know._ The thought made him ill, and it would be rude to soil the saddle with his nausea.

Lorenz closed his eye again, and waited for the ascent to plateau. He waited... and then some.

Finally, the wyvern leveled out and began to glide.

_Now I must truly open my eyes to guide him back down._ He did it all at once, like pulling out a splinter.

"Alev land!" He shouted in his panic at seeing the world stretch out below him at such a deadly distance. He remembered nothing of commands for the wyvern. The wind carried his words away. When he pulled left, Alev moved right. _I remember now. What is down, though? I cannot lean forward. But can I lean back-_

When he tipped his body back, Alev pivoted into a drop.

Lorenz tried to scream, but his voice was now fully absent. He thrust himself back forward in panic, the wyvern grumbling at his indecision.

_NOT BACK NOT BACK NOT FORWARD AND NOT TO THE SIDES._

Lorenz looked at his hands, and realized there were reigns in them.

_JUST LIKE A HORSE. WANT HIM TO LAND-TO STOP. STOP._ He pulled hard on the reigns twice. Alev twisted violently from the downward pivot, dropping his hind body as though to land, but they were still in midair: no perch to grab. He rumbled and growled in irritation.

"I AM SORRY ALEV! THIS IS CLAUDE'S FAULT!" He shouted.

Lorenz tried to piece together whatever instruction Claude had given him between his own frantic thoughts. He remembered that Alev would land on his own after some time. Without knowing how to safely instruct him down, there was nothing but to wait.

Lorenz sat exquisitely still, terrified that a movement in the wrong direction would imperil him. He let Alev make the decisions, Lorenz's only job not to confuse him. He tried closing his eyes again... but now it seemed more terrifying than being able to see what was ahead.

He glided well below the clouds, but everything below still seemed to be in miniature. With nothing to do but look around, Lorenz gathered the courage to turn his head left and right._ Well. This is not unlike a horse. They did seem to be five hundred feet from the ground when I was small._ He tried to imagine that there was instead, a bridge below Alev he simply could not see.

As Claude promised, eventually Alev's gliding loops turned back toward the Wyviary. But he continued to loop, not making for the landing ground. Lorenz could just barely see Claude yelling, making a motion that implied 'lean back.' Dread filled Lorenz. But he wanted down more than anything.

When Alev's path brought them back into line with the landing pad, Lorenz tilted his torso back minutely. Instead of making a sharp pivot and drop as he did before, Alev dipped gently. He landed with a heavy thud, letting out a chortling growl when he saw Claude.

"I. LEARNED." Lorenz announced in shock upon landing. His teeth chattered.

"YOU DID. GOOD JOB." Claude mocked his rigid voice, running over to him beaming. "I didn't hear anymore screaming. I thought you fainted."

"NO. IS THAT COMMON?" Lorenz asked shakily, trying to unlatch and unlace the brace around him.

"In Fodlan it is. Almyrans are children of the stars; we want to get of the ground as soon as we are born." Claude said, so excited he forgot to feign a domestic heritage. He worked through is leg straps quickly while Lorenz made no progress on the brace.

"That is actually. A very lovely notion. But I am too tall on my own. Do not appreciate. The extra height." Lorenz's speech was still halting as he fumbled. Claude laughed, reaching around to unlatch the brace from the saddle.

"I'm very impressed that you can joke about it. Proud even." He couldn't stop grinning as he lifted Lorenz down by his waist. Claude walked him over to a bench, as his legs threatened to give out, and began to unlace the brace for him.

Lorenz sat silently as Claude untangled the laces carefully, still smiling. He left something behind in the sky; fear, or maybe a small sliver of his ego.

"There. It's always so much harder to _un_lace this thing than it is to put it on. Ahh, are your hands still shaking?" Claude moved to unlatch the straps across his chest.

Lorenz took his hand, holding it over his heart where he was trying to undo the buckle. Claude looked up at him; when he furrowed his brows in frustration, it made real for Lorenz how much damage he had caused, lashing out over the past month.

"Lorenz, please stop doing this to me."

"Its not like that- I merely wanted to thank you. Sincerely. For all of our disagreements and struggles, you have done a great deal for me. This too- the flying. It was wonderful. You are a true friend."

"Yeah." Claude still did not look him in the eye, instead glowering at his hand in Lorenz's.

"I was simply trying out the familiar gestures you use." He released Claude, and unlatched the buckle himself. "Forgive me if I have made you uncomfortable."

"Stuff like that is for close friends. _Closer_ friends than you seem to want to be."

"Where shall I draw the line, then?"

"Just stick to a hearty back pat, or maybe the occasional shoulder squeeze." He demonstrated by pushing Lorenz to arm length by the shoulder. "You know. Like any other Lord."

"I would not count you as any other Lord." Claude let out a long sigh.

"Don't make it complicated." _Every word out of his mouth, every gesture is contradictory._ "Let's go eat."

The Wyvern ride, while more exhilarating than he expected, used every muscle in Lorenz's body to a bracing extent. Upon returning to his room, He fell to fatigue, sleeping through dinner.


	28. Affairs Past and Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020

Claude looked out the window of the Duke's conference room, waiting for Lalia and Alvina to come from the stables. The moment Lorenz took his hand in the wyvern tower had startled him. He had reimagined it so many times, to different ends, it no longer made his heart beat faster- his obsession with the innocent gesture had drained the memory of all feeling. It was the only way he could make sense of any event: to wring it through tactical replay, removing himself emotionally from the situation, to make the best decision. Unfortunately it took time, and he continued to make mistake after mistake whenever split second reactions were required. _A 'hearty back pat?' Did I say that to him? The hand hold was fine, he was just trying to meet me halfway. I'm such an idiot._ He heard the door open, footsteps, and the scrape of chairs. He only looked up when Alvina began to speak.

"I managed to secure a visit to Lord Morley's Estate-" Alvina began her report; Claude, Lalia, and Morven in attendance. 

"Wait, sorry Alvina." After shaking himself from his doomed daydream, Claude turned his attention to the dark butler. "Why are you here?"

"Am I not involved in your banking schemes, and with that of the Benettos? Until a week ago, we worked quite closely, My Lord." He left unsaid that he considered Claude a friend: it was inappropriate for the crowd and considering his motives with Lorenz.

"You did your part for the vaults- and you did very little I would add. And you messed up with the Benettos too. Never mind one spy- you had five chances to route them." Lalia was disconcerted by his tone, but her precarious relationship with Claude and misgivings about Morven made it unwise for her to intercede. The matter of the breach was bygone: they had all agreed it was an impossible situation given the Benettos acuity. _For Claude to bring it up now..._

"I apologize if I have offended you in some way, My Lord. I had hoped that offering my aid to Lorenz would have entreated _more_ of your trust- not less. I am only here to support the Alliance."

"_Lord_ Lorenz. Did he instruct you to come here?" Claude's patience was thinning; Lalia watched with unease as Morven played him. 

"No; it was my intention to meet him here when I met Alvina and Lalia in the hall."

"He is indisposed." Lalia added, trying to wrest the conversation back to civility. "I will report back to him, and he can relay the information to you if he so desires."

"Indisposed? My apologies, Lord Claude- I will depart gladly." He rose and bowed politely. "If my presence is an issue, I will attend Lorenz while Lalia receives Alvina's report."

Claude inhaled deeply at Morven's eager mention 'attending' Lorenz, again neglecting his title. Lalia did not like it either, but she turned to Claude sharply, dropping her voice. "_Do not allow him to provoke you, My Lord._"

Morven's lips twitched at the corners briefly, before he turned and departed.

When he left, Claude turned on Alvina and Lalia both. 

"Do something about him."

"My Lord, I would gladly- but he hasn't _done_ anything." Lalia commisserated.

"He has- he's going to. I can feel it. Find out what it is." He turned to Alvina. "You too. Anyone who finds something tangible tying him to some plot will become my secondary retainer."

"Secondary, My Lord?" Alvina asked; Lalia was likewise unaware he had a _primary_ retainer.

"I'm training someone now."

"And that would be...?" Lalia pressed.

"Not important. Alvina, continue your report."

"Oh! Yes, Lord Claude! I was able to attend Lord Morley as he returned to his estate for a brief period. There was... nothing I could access." She blushed ear to ear. "He _is_ a bank owner: He has an obsession with vaults. They are in many rooms of his house, but not like the ones in the bank. I could not devise how to open them."

"Ahhh, Dammit." Claude ran his hand through his hair. "So much for getting dirt on him."

"He does seem to have.... _some_ preoccupation with crests, however." Claude and Lalia perked up.

"He has a few books..." she hesitated.

"Crests are a fairly common topic of interest for any Lord. That amounts to nothing." Lalia said.

"Ah, well... there is more... his... _amorous_ exclamations in the privacy of his home, when engaged in certain... sordid affairs reveals as much." Alvina blushed ear to ear, smiling nervously. Lalia straightened, becoming serious.

"And how was that information disclosed?" She asked accusingly. Alvina waved her hands in front of her, shaking her head.

"He brings women back- or rather, sends someone out to fetch them. And in my midnight explores, I can hear them. 'I'm going to put a crest child into your belly and make a noble whore out of you' was one of his more vivid statements. It was quite shameful." She was full red now. "A-and it almost slipped my mind, I am sorry My Lord. There was a man once."

Alvina was jittery with nerves, not keen on speaking about such lewd matters to her liege Lord.

"A man who visited for business or...?"

"A man- one who visited his bed, like the women. No one familiar, but he called him... He called him Jericho, over and again. _Sensually._" She took a moment to catch her breath. "It-it might seem that perhaps- perhaps- perhaps the two _were involved at some point_. Or Lord Morley wished it to be so, and it never came to fruition." Alvina seated herself, finished, and put her head in her hands to recover from her humiliation.

Claude and Lalia reeled. Lalia's eyes widened- a rather indiscreet tell for a maid- and Claude's mouth hung open for moments. It snapped shut, revelation dawning over him.

"That's why he would want the girls- No. That's why Jericho knows Lord Morley would feel entitled to the girls. I knew he wasn't telling us something." _Lovers to Lord and commoner gone terribly wrong._ "Even though Jericho tried to run him off, Lord Morley might consider Dina and Gala to be _his- _never mind who sired them."

"That is not reason enough to kill someone- it may be that Morley simply intends to rekindle their relationship now that Jericho's wife is passed." Lalia conjectured. 

"Hm. No. Jericho wouldn't be so afraid then. Something happened that he pushed Lord Morley away in the first place- astounding, considering marrying a Lord would have put him in a very comfortable position. It had to be _bad_."

"...Could it not have been their stations? Morley is a Lord, Jericho is not."

"That kind of prejudice still sticks mostly to higher houses.... unfortunately. The lower Lords have become quite comfortable with marrying common."

"Children?"

"I don't think so. Margrave Edmund and his husband adopted Marianne- I don't see that being a huge factor... Unless Jericho really did hope for the Crest of Daphnel to reemerge-" Claude became irritated. "This is all fascinating, but it's not strong leverage against Morley... at best we can ask Vaultier Jericho more about it. Convince him to stop hiding things."

"Indeed. I will speak with him while you and Lord Lorenz attend the Rountables." Lalia stood and made for the door. "But just now I am more concerned for Lorenz. If you will excuse me, My Lord."

"_Lord_ Lorenz." He said after her. _I know she's like family, but apparently Morven has picked up her familiar habits. I don't like it_. "Alvina, are you okay?"

"Yes. My Lord. I will be also be departing: for Derdriu and Lord Morley's apartments now. I am supposed to be spying on you; tell me something useful."

"Uhh... I don't know, tell Lord Morely that Lorenz and I are at odds. That should make him feel overconfident and careless."

"Yes, Lord Claude." She stood up, recovered. She patted her face a couple of times. 

"Alvina."

"Yes!"

"After the Roundtable, I want you to consider becoming my secondary retainer." Her face lit; she brought her hands together in a little clap.

"Truly, My Lord?!"

"Yeah. You're doing a great job- you're indispensable. Have you found anything out about Lalia?"

"Nothing new. Nothing _proper._" Alvina's smile softened, her blush returning briefly. "I would like to impress on you, again, that if anything happens to Lorenz, she _will_ carve a bloody path through the people responsible- maybe even you if you are negligent with his position."

"Thanks for reminding me. You're dismissed." Alvina twirled and departed in a flourish of yellow skirts. _I guess I have to start trusting _some_ people if I'm going to get anything done._

* * *

_Such a lustrous and irresistible man. _Morven leaned over the bed, where a simple spell- of his own clever making- ensured Lorenz would not wake to the sound of him. _Foolish of me to promise not to touch him. I am too noble._ He instead moved to the edge of the bed at his feet to resist temptation. He spoke his mind, believing Lorenz might hear him in his dreams.

"I have a dilemma, My Lord: remain true to my duty, allowing you to steer your own narrow fate... Or to indulge _myself, _which might broaden your horizons in unexpected ways. Perhaps the answer lay somewhere in between." Lorenz only breathed softly; Morven wished he could answer. "I cannot watch the two of you continue in such a state..."

Lalia entered the room, looking around carefully. She inhaled deeply, but saw nothing of Morven seated on the bed. A clever maid, she remained astutely suspicious: checking the bathing room, and quite shamefully, under the bed before scribbling a note to Lorenz. She came close to the bed to brush Lorenz's hair from his face, where she inhaled again. She leaned down, smelling the blankets around Lorenz's shoulders- suspecting what she could sense of Morven might linger from some ardent trespass- but her suspicions were unfounded. She gave Lorenz a peck on the cheek and left, irritated.

Morven had not moved from his place at his feet during her search.

"To know I can fool such a creature is rather thrilling." He said after the door shut. "I do wonder if you are aware of her pedigree, My Lord... But enough of this. Such reclusive behavior is unbecoming of a Lord." 

He rounded to Lorenz's side, releasing the spell. 

"Lord Lorenz." Lorenz knitted his eyebrows before squinting toward the voice that woke him.

"Morven?" He huffed, still very much asleep. "Why'm... you're my room?"

"Merely seeing to your condition, My Lord. Lalia mentioned you were indisposed, and so I was concerned."

"I see." Lorenz rolled over, facing away from him. "It's fine." He mumbled into the pillow.

"If I may, I heard you were riding wyvern. I could massage your legs, if you would allow it."

"Hmph." Lorenz untangled one leg from the blankets, dangling it over the side of the bed.

_Willing enough._

Morven removed his black gloves. One, two, ten fingers down, on the first squeeze of his calf, Lorenz's amethyst head sprung from the bed.

"Unhand me!" He whipped his head around. "Heavens, Claude-"

"My Lord." Lorenz relaxed little when he saw it was Morven, hands held up in surrender.

"What treachery is this?" _What is wrong with his hands?_ Lorenz was too proper to ask, the sight of the glossy red scar tissue on his palms was disturbing enough to wake him fully.

"You said I could massage your legs. I was only accommodating your desire."

"Impossible, I only just woke." He pulled his leg back under the blanket, turning to sit up. Morven replaced his gloves, not offering explanation.

"My mistake- you must have been sleep talking."

"A fine excuse that will not pass inspection next it occurs. Why have you come?"

"To check on you. Offer to bring you tea, perhaps? Lalia is elsewhere; I thought I might take the time to act as your servant in her stead. Perhaps talk at length: I did enjoy the trip to Derdriu."

"Fine enough; rose petals. Milk and honey." He _was_ thirsty and his legs _were_ sore, so the aid was not as despised as Lorenz's tone suggested.

When Morven returned, Lorenz was dressed for the evening, his earlier alarm dissipated.

"What would we speak about?" Lorenz asked as he settled into a chair. Morven set the tea down, taking the opposite chair.

"Magic. You mentioned your studies to become a Dark Mage were stalled by the war."

"Ah, yes. Like so many things, I am languishing in the area of study. I had to withdraw from the Sorcerer's School in Fhirdiad due to unrest, and then Garreg Mach is destroyed by the Empire. Fate does not wish for me to become a mage." He glanced at Thyrsus. "But responsibility demands it."

"Could you not find a reputable tutor?"

"Many are fighting, or hired by other houses with younger students. Many are distant, too distant. Since coming to Derdriu, I have not searched. The Leicester Alliance has never been replete with mages like Adrestia and Faerghus; we have a great deal of focus on martial weapons."

"I see. A lack of schools and community _would_ siphon mages away- to live more often around their peers."

"Precisely. We do need our own institutional mage presence- something to consider when this nonsense is over." Lorenz was delighted Morven understood, that he would not have to explain at length made talking with him easy.

"I should like to help you. I was intended to learn some Minor Illusion Magic in the Kingdom- but was denied for various reasons. I would like to continue the study."

"Illusion? That is rare. Many people prefer offensive and healing; illusion only delays battle; it does nothing to ensure victory." He sipped the tea, delight spreading across his face. "That is why I chose Fire." Lorenz worried after the words left him that the mention of fire magic might cause some reaction in Morven; the scars on his hands seemed to be the result of burns. True to his station as a Butler, he remained even.

"You attitude towards illusion is common, due to the limited mindset that has discouraged study and creative application. There is much more possible, but few books and fewer teachers... Is the tea to your liking?"

"Quite, thank you... I've only read one illusion book myself- it was sloppy with poetic metaphor. While I appreciate that in my leisure, it made it impossible to comprehend."

"That was _one_ bad book- I will find another for you, availability permitting."

"That would be lovely." _This is nice. This is all I want; why can I not talk to Claude, or even Lalia like this? Hilda's company does come with much the same ease, but her time is demanded from all side. _"Where would we build the school?" Lorenz leaned forward, enthralled; he extended his cup for more tea.

"In the capital, of course." Morven filled Lorenz's cup again, drizzling honey into it.

"Not very central. I want it to be accessible."

"... The Benettos Chateau is nearer the center of the Alliance; in fact, though it is listed as being part of Riegan County, it could be construed as, technically, in Gloucester Territory. After they are disposed of, it would be plenty to host a small student body." Morven suggested.

"And it would have the same invigorating patina of age as Garreg Mach- to inspire the senses. It is on the extreme Northern border of Gloucester, only some miles from Ordelia: it would be perfect... So long as we find no cursed rooms or mass graves."

They discussed the possibilities of a mage school at length, in great detail- two hours passed in excitement and the rare laugh.

"Ah, perhaps it is time for me to go. Unless..." The tea pot had long been emptied. Morven set his cup down. Lorenz looked at him curiously. "I remind you my offer to serve stands."

"...As though I had forgotten. I must continue to decline."

"Come- the next to days will no doubt be frightfully boring, all waiting. I would fill the hours for you." He said, deep octave painting a vivid fantasy. Lorenz maintained his composure, but the back of his neck blushed regardless.

"I am flattered at your infatuation, but truly, I do not require such services." 

"Of course, My Lord. Please remember me if you are ever in _any_ need." He Bowed. "Despite your rejection, I enjoy our talks to no end. Please to not wait to invite me back for fear of my personal wants."

"Indeed."

Morven rarely allowed himself for excitement, but he could not resist a private smile as he walked down the hall after departing.

_We'll resolve this before the Roundtable rather than after. Two days is plenty for such clever men._


	29. The Third Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020

Lorenz watched the sunset from his balcony, nine in the evening, when he heard the screech of a wyvern returning to the Estate. He turned his gaze toward the wyviary to see the light colored one called 'Thassia' descending toward the distant perches, Claude in mount. _I suppose he was training her. Perhaps he wanted his own turn after watching me fly._ He leaned on the railing and smiled.

When sun was tucked behind the trees, he returned to his room where he found Lalia had left a note for him on his dresser: "_Visiting Alvina. Maid business- NOT frolicking._"

"Unlikely at this hour." He muttered to the empty room.

With his maid gone, having slept soundly for some several hours, with the Estate settling down for the night, Lorenz was confined to his room with his thoughts. Wide awake and alone.

He tried reading. Writing. He bathed- again. There was little else in such a confined space. He was not sure he could find the kitchens for tea... but he knew where to find 3/4 bottle of wine (purely for sleep aid). Lorenz rolled open a drawer and removed the rosé. There was even a fresh glass- left by a very attentive Lalia.

It was fate.

After a very full glass (or was it one and a half? Two? He could not recall), the wine was not helping Lorenz rest. He remained fuzzy, but not enough so to drift away to sleep, pacing his room until the clock far and away in the main floor foyer chimed three. The wine only softened his mind enough that he could not control the subject or pattern of his thoughts between the drink and the fatigue.

_I'm cold and hot at the same time. Lalia is not here. Where is Claude? I am in Claude's house, but not in his bed.That seems inhospitable. I am so very tired of this malaise. I am marriageable. Why could the war not wait? I could have married Hilda by now if Edelgard was not so bloodthirsty. I want heirs. I am alone. He gave me the key._

Before he could reason through his compromised state, he was in the hallway. A mixture of drink and renewed exhaustion carried him: carelessly, making no attempt to conceal himself or keep quiet. He strode confidently, back straight, to Claude's room. Guards flanked his door at a distance; Lorenz did not care. He removed the key from his pocket, and began to fumble with the knob. _No one is going to stop me, then?_ He wondered of the guards posted.

Lorenz was disappointed to find Claude asleep so early. He could never picture the Golden Deer resting, even at three in the morning; in his mind, the part of his mind he kept under his own lock, Claude was always awake, plotting by lamplight... waiting for Lorenz to come to him. But the lantern near to his bedside was burning out slowly. _He must have taken to sleep an hour or more ago._

He looked over Claude, considering all the things he could do.

Instead, he quietly pulled up a chair. Despite his earlier desperation, Lorenz could bring himself to do little more than watch. _He said whatever I want. I just want to watch him sleep._ His hazy mind began stringing flowery words together, both praise and rebuke. Lorenz played over again the wyvern ride. Claude believed he could do it, and was right: as usual... _and oh, the way he beamed up at me when I returned. How Claude carefully unlaced the brace in a gesture that was... intimate. Not like Claude, not teasing and threatening but... a genuine carefulness; proud of me, not wanting to spoil my success with poor manners. I am utterly weak for such thoughtfulness... what do I want from him? What am I doing?_

Claude rolled and stretched, pushing the covers off of him; the room became _terribly_ warm as one of his bare hips pushed free from the blankets. Lorenz admitted to himself in his compromised condition that letting his eyes rove over Claude with no one to catch him was especially pleasurable. His discomfort gave way to _too_ comfortable in his realization that he did not, for the moment, have to put on the act. He could continue lying to himself tomorrow.

The wick of the lantern diminished at last, the room blacking out in soft flickers until there was only the starlight outside. Relief washed over Lorenz: the absence of light made absent also his inhibition.

In the dark, not to be witnessed even to himself, Lorenz shirked off his jacket and felt his way to the edge of the bed. Running his hand along in the dark, the cool sheets finally gave way to warm skin, a trill over pleasure running over Lorenz at the slight touch of hot skin. He spread both hands over Claude's body to map him in the starlight.

Finding the dip of the small of Claude's back, he smoothed his hands down to his hips, gently coaxing him to roll over: making space enough now for Lorenz to get one knee onto the edge of the bed. He carefully arranged himself over Claude, his other knee sliding up between his legs.

"Hnn?" A curious hum came from the the headboard. From his hips, Lorenz let his hands glide up his sides, over his chest and collarbone to find his chin. "Lornzz...?"

Lorenz ran his thumb over his lips so he could find them with his own. He pressed Claude's sleepy questions back into his mouth, hands running through his bushy hair in squeezes and pulls. Claude's body began to wake, writhing beneath him with unfocused effort, searching for the pleasure promised by the tongue in his mouth.

Lorenz released his lips, finding his way with both mouth and hands. He kissed his neck, descending on the brush of soft hair on Claude's chest, following it across his stomach as it trailed beneath his navel, growing thicker.

"Lorenz... stop." Claude's hands moved to run through his hair, begging with his fingertips even as he tried to halt him. Chills rose up behind Lorenz's ears.

"... Why." He could feel heat, soft throbbing, barely grazing his cheek.

"You'll blame me later. Please. I can't do this." He whimpered in mixed longing and hurt.

"Is this not what you want...?"

"Get off of me." Lorenz's eyes were beginning to adjust: he could see Claude half sitting up, but his face was twisted like he was in pain.

"No. Please Claude, please. I need this. I always need it... " He pressed kisses into his thick, stiff hair of his navel. "I took the key...It's my fault. Please..."

"A mistake. Everything is faults and blame with you." He turned under Lorenz, struggling with himself, his hips pushing while his body pulled. "You're cruel."

"I am. Cruel and a liar. Selfish. Vain. Unlikable." He pressed his face against Claude's stomach and breathed in deeply. "But _you_ like me- What if I do not stop?"

"You'll regret it." Claude used his palm to press Lorenz's head away at last. He leaned down further to lift him off of his legs.

Claude sniffed distinctly.

"You're drunk."

"Nonsense."

"Dammit Lorenz..." He could hear Claude now fumbling with the lantern on the bedside table.

"_Fuuuuuir_." Lorenz waved his hand, the stubby wick sputtering to life: just enough for Claude to turn it up. Seeing him in the light made Lorenz whimper deep in his throat. "Are you sure?"

"Sure? Sure what? Move over." He unbuttoned the rumpled shirt Lorenz had slept in, then made quick work of his likewise wrinkled pants "... Fuck."

Claude only meant to undress him for sleeping, but seeing Lorenz nearly naked, sprawled on his bed and wanting, Claude struggled with both his dignity and his ethics. He settled on indignant anger.

"Get under the blankets asshole."

"It is toooo _hot_."

"Move." He shoved Lorenz to the other side of the bed, pulling only a light sheet up around him.

"... Can you at least play with my hair...?"

"Go to sleep!" Claude climbed out of the bed, heading into the lavatory.

_He knows exactly what he's doing.This is never going to work- like Hilda- I'll have to send him away to get anything done._

"Hngh" The thought hurt him almost physically, a punch of misery to his stomach.

Claude instead returned the the precious few moments just after he woke, when he enjoyed Lorenz's hands running over him before he came to his senses. _He was so close... my dick was right against his face.... I could have just. Let him._

As he so often had to do with his ill-fated passionate encounters with Lorenz, he had only his imagination to carry him all the way through to the climax. _If they day ever comes where he let's himself go... Every slide of his hand is careful: he isn't careless with his tongue either. When he can bring himself to do it he... he's so fucking good. He's never laid a finger on me that didn't make me melt..._

"Unn..." He was desperate to relieve himself, but it was disappointing to finish into another handkerchief. He returned to the bed to find his favorite and most frustrating tease sleeping soundly without shame, already making a tangled mess of the light sheet.

"Bastard." He took a pillow and blanket, sitting down in the chair.

Claude let the lantern burn, admiring Lorenz until he fell back asleep.

* * *

Then next morning, Lorenz found himself already back in his bed. He had no recollection of even making his way to up the stairs, down the hall to utilize the Deer Key, but he was sure nothing had happened. _Claude would not have taken the trouble to place me in my own room if we had given in to such foolishness._ He wanted to feel grateful for his fortune, but instead just felt nauseous- he became especially ill as brief memories of the night before returned in pieces.

After washing, he returned to his room to notice a familiar envelope placed on his pillow: the letter from Hilda. To Claude.

_Who would leave this? Tempting... But ominous. _He picked it up- it was a few pages lighter than it had been when it fell from the journal the first time he used the Deer Key._ And I am positive it was not in the journal when I received it back- I checked..._

_Oh goodness. The Deer Key._ He found the clothes from his drunken stupor, searching through all of the pockets. When he found nothing, he picked the pants and the jacket up each, shaking them out. Only lint issued from the empty pockets.

"He took it." Any misgivings Lorenz had about reading the letter vanished. It was a sleight, taking the key from him after inviting him to use it however he pleased; regardless of what may have occurred in the night, it was Claude's fault: not his own.

Lorenz opened the envelope to find a single page. Running his eyes over it, it seemed to be the only page that mattered: one that would hurt him.

"_Now that I'm your retainer... or when I become your retainer, how am I supposed to act? Not in public, I'm not stupid, but you know this _thing_ we've been doing for years. Do I still get to kiss you? At least it's a good excuse for us to spend a lot of time together- I'm really excited. I miss you already. We should go back to the Gazebo after the Rountable._"

It was genuine, Hilda's handwriting was distinctly cute, with a characteristic notch in her descending flourishes Lorenz had seen nowhere else.

Lorenz read enough, but still tortured himself by reading again. And over. Wishing the words would rearrange themselves before his eyes, so he could believe he had been mistaken the first six times he read it. Oddly, the overt details were distressing, but did not strike him the same way the mention of the gazebo did. He remembered their own incident in a gazebo; the word suggested mouths meeting, heavy breathing, missing clothes. It made him sick with jealousy. He crumpled the letter, took up his lance, and made for the training ground.

_Who would plant such a thing? Does it matter? All that matters is the contents- it's the same envelope, the same stationary from Margrave Edmund's Manor. No fake. Hilda's writing voice could not be copied so precisely._

* * *

Claude spotted Lorenz on the front walk while he made for the Training Ground to meet with Morven.

"Lorenz. Lorenz!"

"WHAT?"

"... Uh. We need... to talk?"

"We have nothing to talk about! Scoundrel!"

"Maybe later then-" Lorenz was already gone. _I'll let him cool of for a minute... I hope he's taking that lance to the training ground. I was supposed to meet Morven there buuut... maybe he can get Lorenz to calm down. I know I can't._ Claude decided to walk the garden until he thought it would be safe to follow him.


	30. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020

_I should not be surprised- in fact, I already half suspected. I am not anything to Hilda, certainly not her keeper. Even Claude is innocent, on my honor, I pushed him away constantly. It makes perfect sense that the two would connect... perhaps it happened after the Academy. Maybe during. I have nothing to be angry about._ His sound logic did nothing to abate his hurt.

When he arrived at the training ground, it was fortunately empty... Save for Morven who almost escaped his notice. He was on a corner bench sharpening his ax. When he saw Lorenz, he raised his eyebrows in concern.

"Lord Lorenz? Are you quite well?" He did not answer, but instead approached him and pointed the lance at him.

"Fight me."

"Not with that." He stared down the lance calmly. "Let us use training weapons while you are out of sorts." Lorenz twisted on his heel, launching his lance at a target, where it glanced of and lodged itself into a bench. He took up it's wooden replacement while Morven selected an axe likewise. "No need to hold back, Lord Lorenz. Aggression is best expended on the training ground."

"Hyagh!" He launched at Morven, sloppy. The butler jumped back, casually, aiming to strike him in the back of the neck with his pommel. Lorenz anticipated it; but instead of a proper dodge, he twisted and threw his shoulder into Morven's chest, staggering him.

Pushing the lance shaft under the curve of the ax's blade while Morven recovered from his poor prediction, Lorenz forced his arm up over his head. His only recourse was to punch him in the stomach, but even as he balled up his fist Lorenz stomped on his foot and shouldered him once more, knocking him to the ground.

_So not a friendly spar, then._ Morven was not displeased; quite the opposite.

"Lorenz, if you want to fight contact, I will. But I am giving you fair warning."

"Fine!" He bellowed, launching himself again. Morven waited for the blunted lance to come close enough, preparing to pull it aside with the ax's curve. Just as it approached his mark, Lorenz turned it instead, thumping Morven in the neck with the hilt-end.

"Eugck!" Lorenz tried to shoulder him once more, but Morven gave up all predictive tactics after the last blow. _He is not merely reckless, he is fighting like an animal._

"Ahaha! You are very lovely when behaving so primal." He took the energy from Lorenz's shoulder and turned it away. This over balanced him, and he fell to the ground. "I will admit you have startled me; I must recover some of my dignity by making you aware the ax is a handicap for me: not my weapon of choice."

When Lorenz tried to right himself, Morven swung his ax at uneven intervals over his head: he could dodge, but there was never enough time to stand. Morven struck against the lance's shaft again and again; it was splintering, and when he did finally make it through, it would no doubt shatter Lorenz's nose. His blue eyes were wide with thrill.

"Fight like a beast, and your opponent will as well lose all sense of form and restraint! Oh I relish the excuse!" Lorenz saw the shaft splintering, and fear finally replaced his anger. He blocked the next blow with his arm- bare, no braces equipped before his outburst- taking the chance to spin the lance so a fresh section of it's handle would guard him. While Morven was distracted by the flourish, Lorenz kicked hard into his ankle, crumpling him. Morven could not stop his fall, but he made sure to land in such a way that Lorenz's legs were pinned; the axe still pressed down onto the lance, no more than a six inches from Lorenz's gritted teeth.

"Forfeit, My Lord?"

"No!" Lorenz let the blunted axe blade slip forward off of the shaft: for a sickening second it plunged toward his face-

-But not before he pushed the lance above his head, catching the ax again under it's curve and forcing it up likewise. Morven laughed wildly as the motion dropped him chest to chest.

Lorenz's energy ran out all at once, exhausting along with his anger. The soreness from the wyvern training renewed in his muscles. He could not sustain the pressure, and dropped the lance, where it rolled over his forearms. Morven let go his axe, using the convenient lay of the lance to pin Lorenz's arms above his head.

"Now?"

"I believe we could at maximum agree this is a draw." Lorenz panted haughtily, pressed into the dirt of the grounds. Morven was breathing heavily as well, but unusually rigid. The press of the lance was starting to hurt his wrists; the fight was over, yet Morven did not release him. Lorenz looked at him with confusion, then felt a lecherous writhe across his abdomen.

"Apologies, My Lord." Morven uttered. He released the lance, but took up Lorenz's wrists again with his gloved hands. "Allow me to-"

"I am not spoken for at the moment." Lorenz suggested, to his own surprise. _I've never so much as held hands with anyone but Claude. Perhaps it is that I only dash myself against his selfish affections for lack of option... If it is established to be acceptable in House Riegan to coquet and more without notice, then I cannot be faulted._

* * *

_It's been fifteen minutes, he has to have worked some of that energy out. I wonder how he's going to blame me for him wandering into my room this time._ He almost thought it might be better to forget trying to argue with him, if it meant Lorenz would keep making the same tempting and seductive mistake over and over... but if they were going to work together seriously, it couldn't keep happening. _Well, I've got the key back now. It's done. For good. It was my fault anyway, getting mad because he did exactly what I wanted him to do..._

Claude played the night over and again in his mind, preparing to let it go. Wondering what might have happened if he _let it_ happen; if Lorenz was going to be angry with him either way, what did it matter? _Ah, I wonder if Morven survived. If he wants to be one of Lorenz's retainers so bad he'll have to manage that rare temper-_

When Claude saw the butler on top of Lorenz, at first, he didn't feel anything. It was an odd sensation, to walk into a nearly empty, silent training ground, and the only sound being some stranger's tongue lapping at the mouth of his unrequited lover. Time slowed as Claude's natural attention to detail soaked in the scene: the discarded weapons, the the way Lorenz's divine hair fanned out in the dirt, how the black sole of Morven's left foot pushed into the ground in exhilaration. _That's the opposite of what is supposed to happen at a training ground_ was the only, bizarre thought that he could conjure in his shock. He leaned against the doorway, ready to turn this situation into a show of callous indifference.

"So Morven, you wanted to spar with me?" Upon hearing Claude's voice echo through the empty grounds, Lorenz started, pushing Morven away by his face. He put his hands over his own face in shame, a habit that never did manage to conceal him. "I was running behind, so I guess it's fortunate Lorenz showed up to keep you company. Were you planning on pinning _me_ like that or...?"

Morven made no move to stand up, unlikely he could. He turned to Claude, his expression as even as his cold voice.

"Beg your pardon, My Lord. It seems I have become preoccupied." The man did not smile, gloat, or even register embarrassment at his behavior. He spoke as though Claude had caught him over-polishing the silver.

"Yeah. I see that. Well, don't let me stop you." Claude turned and left.

Where he was going was unimportant. That he look unbothered despite his racing thoughts was the only perquisite: he only needed to get _away_.

_I did this. This was my fault. This is what I get for begging and begging, then pushing him away at the last moment. I know how he is. I know how he works. I should have seen this coming and I should have changed my... my plan._ Claude stopped in the foyer of the Estate, unable to recall walking so far already. He was upset by his own detachment. Sickened by it.

_Lorenz isn't a plan or a scheme or anything else. He was just supposed to be... the only thing I didn't have to worry about. An easy game to win while the rest of the country is stacked against me. And I still fucked up so bad that I lost._

Despite the early hour and many pending engagements, he returned to his private study to reevaluate his options.


	31. Breaking Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020

Morven's mouth was _different_. Unfamiliar in many ways bad and good. In that it was a more indulgent, sultry kiss of a more practiced man, it was wonderful. That it set the bar too high for any kiss after was a detractor Lorenz had not considered. The taste was off: not unpleasant, but not enjoyable, either. He had grown too accustomed to Claude's coffee or wine infused tongue.

What was worst was that he simply _didn't want it_. The mouth, the body, attractive in hypothesis, revolted him now that he was acting on his base and superfluous feelings. Lorenz wanted, _had_ wanted, in the moment after the rage fled him and left him utterly alone, to mimic the betrayal that he perceived to have been done to him.

Only for a moment.

However, the moment stretched into minutes as he let himself explore the varied guilt of someone different, someone unknown commanding his body to revel. By the end, it had warped fully into a cruel punishment, as he could only think of Claude. By his nature, Lorenz intended to forget, to deny it ever happened, and let the mistake fester in his heart alone, never to be repeated again. Claude was to be none the wiser- just as Lorenz was certainly intended to remain ignorant of the ongoing affair with Hilda. He wanted his own secrets to harbor, bringing himself down to Claude's level of treachery.

_Why would he come to the training ground at all?_ Lorenz panicked under Morven after he heard Claude's footsteps leave the grounds, his cold and empty banter echoing still in Lorenz's ears.

"Let me go Morven, you lying bastard."

"Lying, My Lord?" Morven lifted himself up as commanded. He extended a hand to help Lorenz up likewise, but was steadfastly ignored as the humiliated Lord preferred to lay in the dirt to match his foul behavior. Morven gathered his hands behind is back, leaning over Lorenz so he could not be ignored.

"You said you would not lay hands on me again." Tears gathered in the corners of Lorenz's eyes. "I am appalled. This is a most abhorrent and degenerate behavior, when I thought I could be no lower than the disinherited son of a traitor I have found I can also be a loathsome philanderer." Lorenz stared past the Butler into the ceiling.

"There is nothing wrong with what has occurred. No man belongs to anyone but his own desires, especially a man uncourted, not betrothed, with no seat and no home. Who have you betrayed? Another traitor?"

"...You put the letter in my room." Lorenz looked him in the eye now instead of speaking with the ceiling.

"I was made aware by the many whispers it was a point of interest for you. When I found it laying about the estate, I believed it to be fate."

"You did this. You injured Claude and I both to get closer to me." Lorenz lifted himself up slowly, though he still felt his behavior would place him lower than dirt. "You said you wanted to help Claude, help the Alliance by aiding me. How does this figure in to your noble goals?"

"I delivered to you the truth you coveted, and it is you who came running. While I admit my arousal was improprietous, I was prepared to ignore it- you reaction was wholly by your own needs. You reject them so thoroughly, that they do seize control over you in the final moment."

"If you-"

"I do not accept the burden of guilt until I am guilty. I waited, you acted, your intentions clear. I am not your little friend to swear an oath of poor memory to guard your ego against your own choices."

Lorenz recoiled in fury. His ten minute tryst could not have failed more spectacularly, with any more injurious result. Worse over was that nothing Morven said was incorrect. And he was _not_ Claude: no friend. Not gentle or accommodating in any stretch. _What I deserve for my petulant actions. The harsh reality that my feigned ignorance has constructed for me._

"Well, it can be said you did me some great deed by revealing such a detestable flaw in my character." Lorenz dusted off his arms, struggling to project his disgust toward Morven instead of himself. "If you will now excuse me, I must spend the next day making amends before the Roundtable convenes."

"Do you think it possible?" _Aha, so it worked. _

"Not in the slightest, for any ordinary man. I am no such- hnck-" His voice caught in his regret, the tears rising in his voice "_Lorenz Hellman Gloucester is not so feeble_."

"That you are not. It is truly what makes you so attractive."

"Morven, I care very little for your flattery, advice, admonish; any words you speak are now as valuable as this dust to me." Lorenz poured sand from one of his boots, tremors of regret in his voice.

"I did nothing wrong. I only serve. You need to look inward on yourself if you want to lay blame. In many ways, I have done what is in your best self interest."

"By driving a wedge between Claude and I?"

"By making obvious to two, young and oblivious lovers that there was a flaw in their partnership any true enemy could exploit." He licked his lips. "Bones grow back stronger, one is more resilient after recovering from illness." Morven's methods were disgusting, but Lorenz began to see the design in them. Morven continued in his self-important exultation.

"And I admit I enjoyed myself. The invitation stands: if Claude is not receptive to your apologies; if he sever's your ally-ship; if house Riegan falls, I will be here."

"You must well love to hear yourself talk." Lorenz fetched his lance from the far bench where it had stuck itself earlier. "My tentative considerations for your joining with House Gloucester is rescinded. I will be recommending your expulsion from the Estate as well."

"My reward for offering myself so unflinchingly to your aid? You have already admitted to yourself that my every word is correct- even if they are cutting."

"I do not have to acknowledge when the flailing or raving of a lust-mad man fall into such a pattern as to incidentally reveal a truth."

Lorenz left with confidence, wilting the closer he drew to his guest suite. He collapsed on the carpet to wait for Lalia to return.

* * *

It did not sound like an attack, but it did not sound like choir song, either. Searching the Estate for Lorenz, Lalia heard a pitiful sound emanating from the private study of Lord Claude. It was her duty to protect the young Lord as much, if not more, than it was to protect Lorenz, and so she knocked loudly on the door to be heard over the cacophony.

There was no answer, nor did the low wailing cease or even pause.

"Lord Claude?" She inquired. No change. She looked around to see that no one would notice when she slipped a skeleton key from her pocket.

She eased open the door cautiously, to perhaps one of the most pitiful sights she had seen in some years.

Here the hopes of the Leicester Alliance's independent future sat folded over his desk, crying like a child over something dearly precious lost; people did not weep so over minor failings or stubbed toes.

He _mourned_.

She closed the door and crossed the room.

"Claude." She announced herself gently, approaching the desk. He did not stir.

"Leave." He questioned nothing of how she entered the locked room.

"What has happened, My Lord?" She pressed her hands into the desk, but was not fool enough to try and comfort him with a hand on his shoulder. Pathetic as he seemed, Claude was ever a coiled viper._ It has to be Lorenz- Or perhaps Hilda-_

"Morven." His voice quieted, but his shoulders continued to shake to the rhythm of uneven heavy breaths.

"I see."

"Go away."

"Yes My Lord. Please allow me to bring you back some tea." He nodded slowly into his arms. His acceptance alone spoke to his compromised state.

When Lalia returned, he had not moved, but he had stilled his crying. She had the foresight to retrieve several handkerchiefs, and folded them neatly next to the pot after pouring his tea.

"Here you are, My Lord." She said softly, only one cup prepared. She waited to see if he would take it. He lifted his head only enough for his green eyes, rimmed with tears, to peer over his arms at the cup. She could see a decision being made.

"Test it." He mumbled weakly. She was relieved; there was some hope in him yet if he was sharp enough to recall his own precautions and willing enough to heed them.

She drank from the cup gladly, pouring him another.

"I can imagine what happened, so I will not ask you to elaborate." She began. "My only concern is such: is Lorenz in danger, and should Morven be eliminated?"

"Why are you asking me- I don't even trust you. How can you put this decision to me?"

"you know more about Morven- and _I_ trust _you_, Claude."

"You have no reason to-"

"Dammit, you stubborn Riegan men!" She banged her fist on the desk, making the Duke's decision for him. "Enough! I have a job to do and this secrecy hinders me!" Claude straightened himself at her outburst, eyes still squinting, clutching his tea cup to his chest. He took a slow sip while she steeled herself. "I'm a Maid of Duke Riegan's! I was sent to House Gloucester over a decade ago!"

Claude choked on his drink, dropping the cup in his shock. It spilled across him, before bouncing off of his leg and shattering in the floor.

"... How was I supposed to find that out in the library?"

"What?"

"You sent me to the library to find more out about you."

"I am in the employment rolls, you fool! And you are free to keep searching, the Riegan's secrets are deep."

"What else is there?"

"Nothing that matters right now. Small details."

The tantalizing information and its many implications managed to distract Claude entirely. He sat silently, staring through Lalia as she cleaned up the cup.

"Now answer me- should we worry about Morven?" Much as Claude wanted to steal Failnaught and fill the man with holy arrows, he could not find a single fault with him that was not entirely personal. He struggled, searching for anything.

"I can't... I can't think right now. There's nothing about him out of the ordinary. I just hate him."

"Dismiss him, then." She insisted.

"Too petty."

"This isn't about decorum, or posturing- this is about sensibility. If you do not dismiss him, then I will have the Duke do it." She added a layer of mocking. "_Then_ it will seem like you ran to your Grandfather to do your dirty work."

"I don't think I like you any more than I did before."

"I don't need you to like me- I need you to help me protect Lorenz."

"Wh... Why Lorenz?"

"A conversation for you and the Duke to have- I spoke out of turn in frustration, against his wishes." She readied herself to leave, slightly embarrassed at her outburst. "Consider Morven for a little while longer. If you find anything at all, if you tell me to kill him, I will."

* * *

Lalia found Lorenz in his room, covered in dirt and dust, sitting in the floor with his head in his hands.

"What are you doing, Lorenz!?" She snapped at him.

"I did not wish to get the bed dirty, so I am staying on the carpet."

"Wash yourself if you are so concerned with the filth."

"... I do not deserve such luxuries. The filth becomes me."

"Stop your groveling. I am fiercely disappointed in you. You believe _Claude_ was playing games, and he does from time to time with ever lessening frequency, but Butlers and Maids _never stop_. You have traded your Queen's place for that of a pawn, you utter fool, you reckless child of a man-" Lalia let into him until she could see his lip start to quiver.

_Good, it's sinking in_.

"-your vanity, your warped ideals of propriety, flaws which you have no excuse not to amend have led you to this! I am now so gravely sorry I trusted you to ever sort out such an intimate matter on your own. You do have the mind for politics, but the Goddess took all of the compassion out of your heart and sense from your head when she taught you how to manage love and it's myriad affairs."

"I am _sorry_." He began crying in earnest. It was much in intensity as Claude had wept earlier, and she thought that perhaps, breaking the both of them, something new and better might arise of their character.

"Do not tell me- tell Claude. Tell Claude you're sorry, do it for the Alliance- do it for Fodlan. You two _must_ work together- there is no future otherwise." Even amidst his distress and self loathing, Lalia's frantic surety of a doomed world terrified Lorenz.

"Okay..." He sniffed. She looked him over, noticing that he favored his right arm, tucking it against his chest.

"What happened to your arm."

"... I believe it is fractured in several places."

Lalia felt absolutely wretched. She had not scolded him so since he wondered off with a strange woman when he was only six. She saw to his arm, then gathered him up under the shoulders and urged him to the lavatory. He at least maintained the dignity to do the rest for himself, despite his fit of self pity.

"Where is Morven?" She demanded while the bath filled.

"I left him at the training ground."

"He is being dismissed."

"It is just as well. I have found I am a man weak of will." He slid into the bath, squeaking down the tub's side. "I deserve nothing of love or passion." His descent hastened "The Goddess gave me a poets soul, to laugh as I wither in the hands of cruel men, all while keeping just out of reach the pure pink angel of whom I dream." He sank under the bathwater.

"Your dramatic self loathing does nothing to exonerate you." She said over the bubbles in the water before leaving. _What is Morven planning?_


	32. Yelling Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020

"Where is Claude presently?" Lorenz returned from his second bath anew, ready to fix everything: their positions and the impending Roundtable demanded it. There was still plenty of time left in the day, and the entire day yet tomorrow.

"He has holed up in his study."

"Very well."_ I can confess all my wrong doings dating back to when I was five if need be. All vanity in this matter is a detriment. I will ask nothing of Claude in the way of admission to his own part- I will bear the blame for everything that has transgressed since arriving in Derdriu if it means we can move on from this nonsense. _

"We cannot confidently enter Derdriu or the arena of intrigue so divided over such a relatively petty personal matter." Lorenz looked into the mirror, dressing, opting for a plain jabot over his presently resented rose brooch from Hilda.

"You may have to- it's too soon. You should leave it until tomorrow at least."

"Lalia, as these things take time, my first attempt must be now- I do not expect resolution, but I must make my intentions known so he can at least consider them while he broods. I do not have the luxury of a waiting period to wallow in self pity. That hour I spent on the carpet with my broken arm was the maximum I could allot."

Lorenz took to the halls in something of a trance, distracting himself from the inevitable humiliation. Alvina's report- relayed to him while his arm was being repaired- weighed heavily on him. Such division was a tragedy; he worried in earnest that such a fate awaited Claude and him should they continue to behave so deplorably._ Though perhaps not with such depravity. I have never heard such a tale of a man bringing himself to satisfaction wailing about crests of all things._ He shivered with revulsion at the details.

He entered Claude's study without knocking, to avoid losing his wit.

"Claude, we must talk-" Claude looked up at him from behind his desk, where he leaned in a vicious pose. The seething hatred behind his eyes did not dissipate when he looked up to the doorway: Lorenz realized they were not alone.

"You are most welcome to join in the defense for my position, My Lord." Morven's voice rose from the high backed chair that blocked Lorenz's view of him. He was seated opposite Claude, no doubt receiving word of his dismissal. Lorenz remained silent.

"Whatever your excuses or grievances, you're still relieved of your position. Get out." Claude commanded, his face darkening moreover. Lorenz would trade his now worthless namesake to have heard what 'excuses' Morven conjured in the face of Claude's anger.

"I had hoped to amend this situation by reasoning, to avoid making a mockery of you, Lord Riegan. However, given your obstinate posture, I must now remind you that my contract is with Duke Riegan. As such I will work only for the Duke hereafter." Morven rose from his chair, bowing deeply at the waist. "It has been my distinct honor to serve you, My Lord; I hope that in the future I may do so again."

Lorenz was appalled by Morven's nerve; it was likewise unsettling that Morven seemed to display little more than a restrained amusement at his attempted layoff. He came to Lorenz, stopping briefly as if to have a polite chat about the weather. He whispered:

"If you can mend the bones I have broken, you will be unstoppable. Do not forget me when this minor dispute resolves into a better standing between you. I am patient." Claude bristled, his civility having full left him, but Morven found his way out before he could comment.

Lorenz let loose the breath he was holding. When Lalia said Morven was to be dismissed, he worried it would not happen so politely: he was not happy to have been proven correct.

Claude was still tensed into his chair hand bracing his chin, steady tapping his angry energy out onto the desk. His eyes locked on the desktop; neither of them were ready to speak. Lorenz stood rigidly just inside the doorway; minutes passed; Claude ignoring Lorenz's earlier demand for talk. Lorenz used all of his courage on that one line, and could not bring himself to ask again.

"...What excuses did he attempt to pass?" Lorenz mumbled at last.

"Why don't you tell me? Or did he forget to whisper them into your ear while you were laying in the dirt?" Lorenz flinched. His first instinct was to spit back rebuke over the letter he was not supposed to have... but he was more refined, not here to trade insults to character.

"He tried to pass it off as some clever plan to... to amend relations." _I do not know how much to tell him; how much he would even believe. Now does not seem like the time._

"It _was_ planned. He invited me to the training ground. I only slowed down because I crossed paths with you on the way. And he knew you would be there, somehow." Claude shifted in his chair with frustration. "I don't care about his excuses; I care about what he's really after." Claude stared at Lorenz accusingly, expecting an answer.

"Do not look to me, the man is mad- I am more concerned about the Roundtable."

"The Roundtable? We only sit in the fore-galleries, powerless. Your concern is just another deflection." Lorenz began to wonder if Morven had rather been giving Claude advice for cruelty; he was pulling no punches.

"I... Claude, whatever you are _perceiving_ to be my excuse, must make amends-"

"Not now. You're dimissed."

"Dis... Dismissed?!" Lorenz advanced on the desk now, his pride having been dealt a mortal blow. "I may have been of lowly behavior, but that does not make me a servant! You cannot dismiss me as such- nor can you dismiss this social deficiency that has been revealed to us- quite expertly I am beginning to realize!"

"Now you're making excuses for him, too? I guess blaming it on someone else _is _true to your character; I should know. But I don't have time for this." He motioned to a pile of letters that had been neglected. "I have actual work to do. There's plenty of couches in the estate; find one and wax poetic over your new toy."

"No! You will listen to me as you have refused to do so before, and I you. This is precisely what has hindered us, I see now."

Claude close his eyes and inhaled deeply, before slamming his hands on the desk, rising with the sound.

"Get out!"

The door opened moments after Claude's outburst, an unfamiliar butler stepping in silently to offer assistance if need be.

"I _was_ full well prepared to apologize, to take responsibility, but I see your jealousy will not even allow me that humiliation. Fine. If you want to continue this pathetic display, you can do so by considering your role in this." The butler stepped in closer to Lorenz, prepared to see him out.

"It's easy enough to say you intended take responsibility just as soon as you rescind the option, isn't it?" He looked at the butler; Lorenz expected Claude to command he escort him away. Instead, Claude snapped at him: "I didn't ask for help!" The butler bowed, and returned about his business.

"This is precisely what is wrong with you- you so casually throw people away, even when they try to support you. You cannot trust anyone."

"Every time I do, what happens? Nothing good. They push me away, die, 'accidentally' put their tongues in other people's mouths-"

"It was _no_ accident: I came here to admit that and apologize. But has it ever occurred to you that you cannot trust anyone because you are such an inveterate schemer yourself- and a liar?!" Lorenz pulled the single, crumpled page of Hilda's letter from his pocket and threw it down on the desk. "You only fear people doing to you what you are doing to everyone else! Your plotting has gained you victory in only one aspect: no one is as paranoid and preemptively hateful as you!"

Claude picked up the letter. He read it over, a mix of emotions on his face, anger still prominent among them.

"Where did you get this?"

"Morven, you fool! He's playing both of us! _This_ is why I came to the training ground." Claude looked over the page again and again, increasing in confusion.

"Lorenz. I really can't talk to you about this right now. Please just go." His anger had abated into contemplation; the letter had off balanced him.

"...It's just as well, I expected you to be less petty; now I must reevaluate whether reconciliation with you is truly all that valuable."

* * *

Lorenz walked the grounds, trying to resolve the earlier argument to decide on his next course of action. _That did not develop in any manner I expected. I have become too comfortable with Claude's willingness to excuse my mistakes. I even revealed the letter which I meant to keep to myself; I had no intention of adding to his troubles._ Morven's presence in the study had upset both of their moods- and unfortunate coincidence._ If I would have not been so eager; even ten minutes later I might have found Claude alone, more tractable... This day is only three quarters through, and yet it feels like I have passed three or four days. Miserable._

Puzzling over it did no good. Something else was off, he realized: _I never passed Claude on the front walk. I went to the training ground through the kitchen hall._ Lorenz could do nothing with the information; for the time being he returned to his room, looking for distraction.

When he recounted the incident to Lalia, she scolded him, saying nothing of Morven's rejection of Claude's dismissal.

"I told you it was too soon. Come now, you have work to do as well: you're neglecting the report I wrote you." Lalia chided. It was now late in the day, and the evening was for rest, yet Lalia thumped fifty or more pages onto the small writing desk. The packet was handwritten, front to back, listing all of the allegiances she confirmed or suspected among alliance Lords, open and secret contracts with merchants, estimations of how many troops each faction might command- numbers upon numbers.

"Is this why you have been absent? I truly thought you were turning Alvina over day in and out."

"The developments from Gloucester County begin on page twelve." Lalia ignored the comment. 

"It's as Claude said: we're just sitting in the forward galleries- what's the point?" Lorenz rose from the couch, crossing the room to riffle through the pages. "By the time any true power might've come to us, the nation will be swallowed up- seats left only to be filled by Empire dictators. We were just playing politician on Claude's impulse, going through the motions of pretending we could change anything at this stage."

_If Morven's plan was to weaken their resolve, it's working. One hard push in the wrong direction, and they'll crumble. If that man has any sense, he'll run: I'm going to hunt him down like a prize fox when everything is sorted-_

"Lalia, I apologize. That was very unbecoming of my responsibility, which I am sure bears on your confidence as my retainer." He took up the papers up once more, and sat down at the desk to consider them. "When dinner comes, please have it brought to me here."

He poured over the pages, running out of tea twice over. He picked at some paltry meal, but had little appetite: the report revealed an alarming pattern.

Typically, there were several strata of micro alliances: between major lords, between minor lords, between merchants, between knight and mercenary companies, between the labor class. There were moreover, agreements that crossed over these strata: such as when a Lord hired a mercenary company, or a Merchant asked for assistance from a Lord's Militia.

In the most stable of times, these were evenly disbursed: no strong preferences excepting what was dictated by region and family ties, or resource availability: a stable web that could hardly be disentangled. The only consistent divisions were based on petty rivalries: House Gloucester and House Riegan avoided dealings with one another directly, for example.

Now, there were new, clearer divisions; large, nonsensical fissures that would suggest non-economic force at play.

Minor Houses that Lorenz suspected might support the Empire were severing decades-long agreements to form contracts with other suspected supporters of Edelgard's campaign. Their preference was becoming clear just by their choice in partners.

"No one would go so far out of their way and pay more for grain unless... Unless there was another benefit. There is no other excuse for this merchant to cross the border..."

"Something wrong, My Lord?"

"I am sure you have noticed the patterns Lalia. Everything I feared is happening on paper."

"Lorenz, I can remember the information verbatim, and I write it down: comprehending it would distract me from that."

"The Bad Lords are making more contracts with each other to strengthen other _alleged_ Empire aligned Houses. For example, we can presume anyone who has made any new agreement with Acheron in the last year supports what he supports."

"What about your father?"

"... My father's affairs have remained equanimous. As Great Lord, it may still benefit him to feign neutrality; especially as he intends to sit at the Roundtable."_ Or he truly is neutral. Perhaps he has come to Derdriu to make his true intentions known._ Lorenz realized it was a false hope. He could no longer picture his father being so noble. "I must show this to Claude."

"Nothing that can't wait until the morning. Give it time, Lorenz." He sighed; she was right- he should have listened to her earlier as well. He needed distraction.

"... I want to ride a wyvern again." Lorenz put the papers down, rubbing his eyes from the ache of reading Lalia's small, neat print.

"Are you joking?"

"No. Could you take me, tomorrow? It was suggested I learn in the instance we must escape from Derdriu... and the air really clears the mind."

"If the Wyvern Lord on duty will allow me, I would be happy to."

"I rode once by myself, did I tell you?"

"When-who let you ride alone?!" He ignored the obvious answer.

"... It was far scarier than the first time, when we came back from Derdriu, but Alev is a good beast."

"He is one of my favorite- he's almost a hundred and ten years old." Lalia smiled warmly. Lorenz knew she could ride wyverns; she spent much time with them in Gloucester. But did not know she harbored such affection for them. "His name means 'flame' in the Srengia language."

"Oh? I did not know you were fond of such trivia. I wonder who named him?"

"Perhaps a foreign Wyvern Lord attended the Wyviary all those years ago." Lalia considered the question; it made her rather melancholy, the thought of a Wyvern Lord being so long outlived by his companion.

"That is fanciful, coming from you Lalia."

"I have my moments."

"You should have them more often."

"Too often, and I will become soft headed. Now, I must go- people to talk to."

"So late? You never do stop working."

"I would not have become your maid if I knew how to relax."

She left the room as the clock chimed eight.

* * *

"Lord Claude."

"Lalia." He no longer knew how to feel about her since her revelation- there _was_ the possibility she was bluffing, ergo why he wasn't supposed to ask the Duke about her. He hadn't had the time to consider that conundrum. It seemed now, though, that she had decided to take a more familiar tone with him regardless. He didn't like it.

"I thought you should know, Lorenz and I intend to visit the wyviary tomorrow at 10 am."

"Noted. Thank you." He said over a plate of cold leftovers.

"He said the air really clears the mind."

"He isn't wrong. Is that all?"

"He isn't the only one who needs to empty his head of a great many stupid, childish notions."

"Well if you find someone else who does, take them with you."

"Then you will meet us there?"

"I'm not in the mood."

"Liar; you love your wyverns."

"That's not what I meant. I'm trying to eat, can you just-"

"Are you going to sleep in your study? You can't hide here forever." There were piles of letters opened, stacks of letters written, all to be delivered when they arrived at the city. "What are all of these? Did you not promise Lorenz that you would inform him of any plans you made."

"These aren't plans; these are requests and acknowledgements that I received them- nothing more. If something comes of one of them, I'll let him know, if he's still around."

"Where do you think he is going?"

"When the Roundtable is over, he can stay at Riegan Hall in one of the apartments- if his father hasn't left Gloucester Hall. There he can do whatever he wants. It's none of my concern."

_Well. He has graduated rapidly in maturity in the past hours, but in the wrong direction._

"Have you spoken with Lorenz at length?"

"Lalia, _that's_ none of your concern. This is between me and Lorenz. When are you gonna tell him you're from House Riegan?"

"_That_ is none of _your_ concern... But I will tell him much, much later: so keep your mouth shut. There are more pressing matters for him to contend with right now."

"I could ask my grandfather."

"You could. I assure you, his response is not anything you can plan for, if he responds at all. You, too, have more important matters to consider. Such as amends." He pushed his food around on the plate.

"I'm not trying again. I don't want to anymore."

"It doesn't matter what you want."

"... Of course it doesn't." He finally pushed the plate away. "I just can't do it right now."

"This is the least of interpersonal issues that will stack against you in the future. There is only one day before we depart."

"I know." Lalia was dissatisfied with his response; she bowed politely, and made to leave.

"Lalia, wait. Since Alvina isn't here, and you seem so eager to help me sort things out, I want you to see something." She looked at him curiously, confused that he would confide anything to her yet. She met him again at the desk as he pulled out a twice crumpled sheet of paper: the letter from Hilda she found in Lorenz's room while he was 'sparring.' "Read this."

"I have- I saw it in Lorenz's room earlier. After he had read it." She took it in her hands to look it over again.

"Hilda never wrote that." He leaned back into his chair. "She wrote all those words in different parts of the letter; it _is_ her handwriting. That's even one of the sheets of paper she sent me. But it's wrong: she never writes anything so damning." 

"... You have your suspicions already?"

"The only conclusion I can come to is a master forger."

"Hm. It's exceptionally difficult to forge someone's letterhead. He would have to have Margrave Edmund's stationary on hand. It would have to be recent as well. It's possible. Even the handwriting could be painstakingly forged. It is laughable, considering the letter's use: it might take weeks of preparation to even steal and transport the sheet of paper."

"Could someone forge the thumbprint I left on it?" She looked down, at the far corner there was a partial greasy print, as though he had been eating while he read. "Why would they bother?"

"...I am ashamed to say I do not know if such a thing is possible. This was left by Morven, Lorenz tells me- are you assuming it was him?" She handed him the letter back.

"I can't say I see him going through the trouble. He obviously used the letter to get what he wanted, but why take such a risk just for a bit of fun?" His mood was not great, yet it became even darker. "... I don't know what to think anymore."

"Don't over think it- it doesn't matter, ultimately, in this case." She breathed in, preparing to say something uncomfortable. "All that matters is you trust Lorenz. This isn't about either of you. You have to work together or the Alliance will collapse." She said, returning to the door.

"Why do I have to trust him? He-"

"Why should any of us trust you, Claude?" She neglected his title, belittling him. "And yet we choose to against your repeated mistakes. You must have faith in people; they will all fail you in turns, being human; you cannot simply discard them."

She left the matter at that, closing the door behind her.

_There _was_ someone who never failed me._


	33. Ceasefire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Graphic Description of violence/gore

Lorenz waited on the wyviary landing with a saddle while Lalia released Alev and a wyvern new to Lorenz: King. He could hear (and feel) footsteps rumbling up the massive coiled ramp that wrapped the inside of the tower. Alev emerged from the platform below; King had flown directly from his nest and landed to Alev's left. Ahead of them both, Thassia crashed onto the landing

_Three wyverns? A mistake? Thassia did escape in the first week I was here._

Lorenz walked over to Thassia, believing he might stop another incident. He squared himself, walking directly toward her, slightly to the right to avoid the blind spot under her snout: wyverns responded positively to directness, but walking into a blind spot was a threat. She pulled her head back, bobbing, growling curiously, before lunging at him- stopping short in a playful nip.

"AHhhhaaaaaaaaaa... H-hello, Thassia." She pushed him down with the tip of her nose. "Oof! _Rude_, My Lady."

"Thassia, down." Claude's voice carried across the landing. _Heavens, no._ Lorenz whipped his head around to see Lalia, grinning behind Claude, double saddle in arm. _Lalia- NO._

Thassia continued to press him into the bricks, huffing over him in scorching breaths.

"Thassia! Ahda!" She grumbled ruefully, letting up and sitting back. Claude walked past Lorenz, leaving him on the ground, to saddle her.

"'A-ahada'? What is that?" It seemed an important enough command that might save him from being crushed in the future.

"_Ah_da." Claude wouldn't look at him. "Calm."

"I see." Lorenz stood and dusted himself off. He made towards Lalia in haste, ready to shake the schemes from her. He found her on the other side of Alev, and dropped his voice.

"Lalia! This is not what I wanted! I wanted a reprieve-"

"Not enough time for that. This is good for everyone. Come now, let me show you how to put on a saddle."

"Three wyverns- but a double saddle?"

"Learning to fly requires movement comprehension- you need to sit against someone to feel how they move. It's not just a series of leans- it's also minute muscle adjustment. You're going to ride with me, to learn. Claude is going to ride on his own, to clear his head."

"Why three wyverns?"

"After letting King out, he said Thassia was restless. He wanted to fly them both in turns. Come, help me saddle Alev." The double saddle was more straps than seat: each wider than Lorenz's forearm, big heavy clasps clacking against one another. Lalia was expert enough, but slowed her pace to explain the extra parts and extra straps that were unlike a horse's tacking.

"Why are you helping him?" Claude asked, emerging from behind one of Alev's massive legs.

"Wyverns are _typically_ saddled by two."

"He should learn to do it alone."_ -Just in case he needs too_. Claude walked away again, casually, as though he was merely stating the obvious instead of showing concern.

"He's not wrong." She stepped back.

"Lalia, I know well you are playing the fool on purpose. If this escalates, your position is in jeopardy."

"Going to run the Noble House of Gloucester: Derdriu branch alone, My Lord?" She walked away from his struggle as one of the clasps escaped his grip: it lashed him across the shin, crippling him. "Lord Claude, would you have me saddle King as well?"

"Sure."

Claude finished saddling Thassia; he realized he had put Lalia to King, which meant Lorenz was alone: making a fine mess of the tacking while Alev grew bored. Claude decided to watch the show from a distance when Alev lay down in protest. He could just slightly hear Lorenz talking to him over the struggle.

"Alev- I know you are old and weary, but this would be over much sooner if you could raise your neck up a little." Lorenz reasoned with Alev. He raised his arm over his head, trying horse commands, clucking at him. "Alev- nck! nck! Head-up!"

To Claude's surprise, Alev responded._ Thassia barely listens to Fodlaner. _

"Ahhh! Handsome man! That settles the matter- you are my favorite." Lorenz looked up at Alev with pride. "I a_dore you._ You are coming back to Gloucester with me." Claude had heard enough. He wasn't ready to forgive anything- nor ready to be nice. But he was becoming jealous of his own wyvern.

"Stop talking to him and pay attention to the saddle." Lorenz's smile fell from his face at Claude's interference. "If you don't do it right, you'll die."

"I had little chance of doing it right with never being shown. Lalia abandoned me."

"I forgot- you can't do anything on your own."

"At least I'm _aware_... _Some people_ might think they are accomplishing a great deal by themselves, only to find themselves gloating about a dressed-up disaster." Claude tensed.

"No more talking unless it's about saddles or wyverns."

"... Agreed."

"Walk this strap around." After twenty minutes of instruction- only instruction, not a word of tease or banter- Alev was properly tacked. The awkward cooperation had absorbed their full attention; when Claude and Lorenz looked around, Lalia was now _un_saddling king.

"Lalia, what are you doing?" _She is up to something- I warned her_ Lorenz panicked.

"It had slipped my mind, I am to meet Alvina in less than ten minutes. It is a very important meeting that cannot be delayed; I unsaddled King for you since you won't be needing him." She turned to the stately Wyvern "'Aelaa aelaa!"  
He took off at the command, leaving the three in a whirlwind of wingbeats. Alev and Thassia hounded after him, eager to follow.

"Lalia!" Lorenz gave her a scathing look. She walked over to Claude.

"I am trusting you to teach him- the _right_ way- how to steer a wyvern." Lorenz might be fooled, by Lalia knew more about Wyverns and their training than Claude knew himself. She took Claude by the shoulders, squeezing. "You are such a _responsible_ and kind young man, I have _absolute_ faith that you will not let a petty dispute interfere with something as_ important_ and_ serious_ as training."

Claude huffed at her, resigned. He lowered his voice.

"You're pushing it ..._and Lorenz is escaping_." Lalia turned around to see him rapidly descend below the landing, taking to the stairs in haste. While she chased after him; Claude sat down against Alev. "It might just be you and me, old man."

Down the stairs, Lorenz railed against Lalia's grip on him.

"I will not suffer this humiliation! We should be talking like adults: not being played into- into _full body contact_. You said I had to feel how you moved in the saddle; I have no desire to feel any part of Claude! I refuse! I do not _deserve_\- have no _right_-"

"There it is." Lalia said calmly while she kept Lorenz in a headlock. "Go back. And ride. The lizard."

"I don't even want to _look_ at him for shame, much less feel his 'minute muscle adjustments.' "

"So don't. Train. Be the stoic and emotionless man you demand of everyone else." He struggled.

"Hnngh! ..._Why are you so damned strong_."

"I told you I did regret leaving you up to your own devices, so I'm forcing your hand."

"What is it with you- and Morven- obsessed with our relationship."

"I don't know about that bastard, but I see a lost opportunity when I know one-"

"That does not even _parse_-eugck!" She gave him one last squeeze before releasing him. He stood- indignantly- straightening his coat. "Lalia. I will go back on one condition."

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Never do that to me again."_ Humiliating. I have not been head locked since I was fourteen._

"If you fix this, you have my word."

Lorenz took a moment to smooth his hair over.

"I cannot promise anything; I am only half of the resolution. I can negotiate, humiliate, and fight anyone. I have no experience in reconciling this- this-"

"Lover's Quarrel."

"Talking to you is worthless." He began up the stairs, his only exit. Lalia remained until she was sure he would not come back down.

_Stupid men. Alvina is all the way in Derdriu._

* * *

Lorenz sat on the forward seat of the double saddle; Claude insisted he could train like such, alone- to his relief.

"Loathe as I am to be anywhere near you, did Lalia not say that proper training was done two in saddle?"

"That's a matter of opinion. I learned to ride alone. You will ride beside us. Watch me closely, how I move my body to make Thassia move, and copy us. Go ahead of me while I strap up."

"...How?"

"Whip the reins, and when you get to the platform yell 'Alev, up.' Got it?"

"I believe so." Lorenz's teeth were starting to clatter in apprehension.

It was easy enough; Alev was well trained. Lorenz glanced back once more and saw Claude wavering on Thassia, smiling while she undulated her shoulders: ready to to jump before he could strap himself in._ If he can maintain that ease when we return, it will make the next days proceed much more smoothly._ Alev huffed at him, as he waited on the vaulting platform for command.

"Ah! Alev.... UP!"

He still could not keep his eyes open for the ascent, managing only to open them just before Alev began to glide. The wyvern took again to his lazy circles, while Lorenz watched for Thassia and Claude.

When Claude got the stubborn young wyvern into the sky, they spent the better part of two hours practicing again and again banking, rising, lowering, halting and speeding up. Having to so closely observe Claude's body made Lorenz wholly uncomfortable- he felt he should not be allowed to look at him. That too was blown away with the wind, and he found himself increasingly fixated on the mesmerizing way Claude's hips swayed with Thassia's shoulder movements.

_I am so disillusioned of this restrained longing._ The thought felt more like it was whispered in his ear: a suggestion, not a personal revelation. _It is well within my power to simply give in to both our benefit. Playing this game may have served me in the Academy, but now it is tedious and harmful. _Another thought that was so foreign to him, it did not feel like his. He agreed with it, as though audience to the feelings rather than originator.

Claude began to show off: he held his hand up to motion to Lorenz: _don't follow_ before leaning backward and whipping the reigns three times.

Thassia pulled her wings in sharply, gliding forward for a split second before she aimed her head into plummeting. It was horrifying to watch Claude fall out of view so rapidly, a joyful shout trailing behind him. Lorenz shouted back in shock. Alev began to dip his head, begging to follow: thankfully, he would not move so without command.

Thassia beat her wings back into Lorenz's view, Claude now pressed forward on her like a running horse. He leaned up for a moment to flick the reigns, on hand over the other, before pressing himself again against her neck: Thassia tucked her wings in, turning into a corkscrew dive.

Alev bobbed his head again, growling his approval. Lorenz managed to lean over one of his massive shoulders to look for Claude where he should just be grazing the tree tops. He was much farther out than he expected, the inertia of the dive carrying him out some fifty feet ahead. Between them, something beneath the trees emitted a green glow.

_Is someone practicing magic in the forest, I wonder? They have grounds for that on the Estate-_

Panic cut through him before comprehension.

Alev was quicker than Lorenz, diving to the left without command, out of range of a barrage of unnatural, cutting winds. Thassia had no such battle sense, letting out a gruesome howl somewhere ahead of Lorenz.

"Here?!" Without armor or weapon, only a minor pocket tome that was rendered useless by his proximity to Alev, Lorenz could do nothing but ascend. _I cannot even dodge- this damned brace-_ He spurred Alev to rise, but the wyvern only half listened. He rose only slightly, before following after Thassia.

Lorenz could not see well beyond Alev's head; he struggled to find the clip of the brace, and operate its screw mechanism blind and one handed: he could not duck down until it was done: entirely defenseless. Thassia bellowed again, a terrible screech made in injury.

A series of gales began to cut upwards through the canopy, making a wide arc: which Alev steered away expertly at a distance, sensing the magic before it struck.

"The tower! Go back to the tower you stubborn beast!" Lorenz gave up on the clip and took up the reigns. "Alev- Up!" He kicked and whipped the reigns once. Alev finally gave in to command and began a rapid ascent.

Claude was not so self-preserving- or perhaps Thassia would not obey. At this height, Lorenz could look down and see him rolling Thassia ahead of and between attacks. Well over half of her tail was absent; she was frantic, rising only to drop, fighting Claude at every turn. At last, she seemed to gain focus: only to dive beneath the trees pointedly.

_How many are there?_ He surveyed the surrounding forest, and the distant estate: no activity. _That is no paltry magic, but it's not enough to be more than one. Surely someone at the Estate has heard us: they will be on their way. If I can get down from Alev, I have more defense than Claude at least._

Lorenz banked Alev back toward the area of attacks: which seemed to have ceased. He spotted the hole in the canopy that was broken by force, not cut by magic: Thassia's entry. He did his best to aim Alev into the opening, but he was much larger and now unforgiving of Lorenz's myriad minor errors. He crashed through the remaining, splintered branches, nearly puncturing Lorenz in several places.

Thassia had moved forward through the forest, a path of broken branches and downed trees behind her. Lorenz fumbled and forced himself to slow at working the brace free: easier to remove the laces loop by loop than reach behind him for the stubborn clip.

After several minutes, pierced evenly by wails from Thassia growing more distant, Lorenz was finally free of the saddle. He searched the ground; both the wyverns had left several perfectly good makeshift lances in their destruction. The small tome he kept was good to absorb three blows, cast one fireball, and perhaps a warp- which he was lax in training and did not trust not to obliterate himself. It did him little good in his pocket, but he made preference to hold the pointy stick.

"Come Alev." He walked with the wyvern to guard his flank, keeping his exposed right in his vision. They were getting closer, the trail of bright orange wyvern blood leading them, hopefully, toward Claude in addition to Thassia.

Lorenz found her at last: in a clearing, circling an unmarked mage. She had the advantage, but was inexperienced; the mage kept her away with magic tricks, likely having used all of his true spells trying to fell them in the first place. When she lowered her head in a hiss, he could see Claude was not on her.

Lorenz broke away from Alev: the wyvern lowered himself, flattening in preparation to seize the mage when he came close enough. Lorenz did not wish to be caught inbetween his teeth and his prey.

_We need to interrogate him; has Claude been taken? The mage will not survive the wyverns but... Maybe... Maybe if I warp him, there is a chance he would survive: but I may well faint-_

The mage was now nearer Lorenz; not yet in Alev's range. He was a spindly man, small; distracted by Thassia, and had now run even out of magic tricks. Lorenz had the advantage, he could subdue him with his stick-lance alone-

-He did not get an opportunity.

Death slipped from the sky in flattened wings and bared teeth: King plunged into the clearing to seize the mage. Not two yards from Lorenz's position, he pressed their attacker into the ground, sitting upright. With all of the dignity of his namesake, he lowered his head with grace to bite into the man's shoulder, to rip him in half with one efficient whip of his long scaled neck.

_Too close-_ It was not nearly as violent as the sundering rune, yet more disturbing was the way the blood did not spray forth, but poured from each stretched tear like a renewed water spring. It still conjured the same pain behind the eyes, the fear: now just the sight of so much red, black blood mingled with the horrors of blood magic and images of the Benettos and their dark manor. The casket. The rune of sundering. The glossy red armor and the red and black flags. _I cannot- Claude is missing- huh-_

He could not turn away for shock. King was pulling on the man still; the pool of blood made Lorenz feel faint, but it was the too familiar snapping sound that truly sent Lorenz spiraling- the crack of vertebrae as they popped apart. Suddenly Lorenz could see nothing; without reason, he began counting the popping sounds: his mind preoccupying itself with logic to belay the horror.

There was some relief in the press of cool, damp leaf litter on his face, after he fell, and before he lost consciousness.

* * *

Lorenz woke in the Riegan infirmary.

He heard voices across the room, struggling to wake fully.

"Lord Claude, what is the last thing you remember?" A woman’s voice carried across the room. Relief washed over Lorenz that Claude was not taken or missing in the wilderness.

"Thassia was going crazy. I tried to land her, but she only went after the mage; I cut the saddle straps after she slammed me into a couple of trees. I don't remember hitting my head though. Why did I black out? "

"Your left shin was splintered- likely you went into shock from walking on it such a distance. The healers have accelerated your recovery, but your body needs to do the rest of the work if it is to heal stronger."

"And Lorenz? Is he okay?"

"He was uninjured, and they could find no traces of magic fatigue- we are not sure why he is unconscious.”

“I.... am not.” He muttered. Someone leaned up from the bed beside him; lost to his notice between the voices and the pounding behind his eyes. He managed to open them at last. “Lalia?”

“Lorenz-” She squeezed his hand.

“Lord Claude-you should not walk yet!” Claude limped into his peripheral.

“Are you okay? Do you remember anything?” His worry was so palpable, it made Lorenz nervous: Claude unguarded was a testament to the gravity of their situation. He let himself down into a nearby chair, pulling it closer to the bed with his good leg.

“There was a mage. Just one, I believe. After Thassia took you down, I followed. I was close to capturing the man, but then King...”

“That's not what I was asking. I meant you; why were you unconscious?"

"I-" Lorenz struggled for words. "The red- the mage's spine-" he could do little more than babble, instead pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Give us a minute." He waved away the nearby healer, the tall Lady Knight who had been questioning him. Lalia did not make to move. "Lalia."

"... A few minutes." She rose and only walked across the room, not taking her eyes off of Lorenz.

Claude looked around, unsure of what to do. What he might have done before to comfort him was deprecated; what was appropriate now was beyond him. He took up part of the blankets and twisted them in his hands.

"So. I want to apologize. I guess the war isn't going to wait on us to catch up." _At least he shouldn't have to worry about this._ "Let's call it a truce."

"No." Lorenz pushed himself up in the bed.

"... Are you serious?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"They were trying to figure out what was wrong with you." Lorenz looked down and saw Claude still wore his riding clothes: now crossed with tears over half-healed cuts where he had missed, trying to slice through his leg straps while on a bucking Thassia. "What do you mean by 'no' ?"

"I do loathe to spoil the mood, but delaying reconciliation further only makes such a divisive situation possible again. We talk now. The coming days are going to be difficult enough without such trivial matters clouding our judgement." His head pounded in steady beats.

"...Okay. Where do we start?"

"With the epicenter of our mutual jealousy: Hilda, Morven. Those sleights will not be resolved so quickly. We must agree to let it go, at least for the coming days."

"Fair."

"Not 'fair': I need you to agree to put the past days events out of your mind entirely before we proceed."

"Fine. Done. Keep talking."

"That leaves only our own shortcomings. Now, I have done a fair amount of thinking- enough for the both of us- so I demand you listen with an open mind."

"Right. I guess that depends on what you have to say." A bit of Claude's irritation returned with Lorenz's arrogance.

"We have... perhaps we are adjusting poorly. Behaving like boys instead of men. Trying to treat one another as though we are still in the Officers Academy in more carefree times when your harassment and my scorn bore no lasting consequences." Claude looked genuinely thoughtful. Lorenz pulled the blanket that covered him up further: he felt foolish trying to exert his expertise while so incapacitated. After some time, when Claude was not forthcoming with his own commentary, Lorenz continued.

"We could start anew. As if meeting after so many years that we have forgotten how it was. We must forge new bonds not built on our dissolved rivalry."

"I don't know... I think that solution is too well adjusted: It feels like a sham. Too easy." He scratched his chin. "It's too sudden. Too fast."

"Not at all. I have found myself recovering from travesty after travesty with greater resilience of late. It is merely the marker of maturity."

"I don't want to forgive you. I'm still angry." _Ah, so this _is_ still about Morven. Or maybe he really is, truly so angry at me alone. _Lorenz was not sure which he preferred.

"There is nothing worthy of forgiveness; I can admit I have poorly in behavior- it does not merit your acceptance. All that is left is to let it go in due time. Perhaps not today, or even in a week." Claude did not have a ready response. He continued to busy himself with the sheets, pulling at them nervously.

"So. No more of this. Partners only. New, fresh, platonic friendship." Claude added with finality.

"Now- I did not say _that_. I said 'anew' not predestined, planned, nor schemed."

"Telling me what you want me to do isn't a 'scheme.' It's just clarity. I'll do whatever you want: for the Alliance. For Fodlan." The statement was dead. Perfunctory and obedient. An ache took up deep in Lorenz's stomach.

Now that the option was truly in front of him, the wall he could already see building up around Claude before his very eyes seemed wrong in many ways. _Perhaps this is not the direction that I intended. It's certainly not what Lalia had in mind... Or Morven, if I am admitting now that this was truly his goal. This seems like an ultimately strained solution. A castle built on the sand._

"Do not put words in my mouth. And I need to clear my head some before continuing. Let us talk again this evening."

"The Duke wants a meeting as soon as we're awake. He's already been informed."

"Very well- leave so I may dress."

"Right." He found a crutch that one of the healers had quietly left against his chair. "I'll meet you there. Lorenz... I _am_ sorry for being stupid."

"Thank you, Claude."

" 'Thank You Claude' ? You're supposed to say you were stupid too."

"I will never lie to you; I was surely misled, deceived, weak of will, or perhaps of genuinely poor character: many things. Stupid is not one of them. Out." Claude sighed, hopping his way out from the infirmary while Lorenz had a dressing screen brought to him.

_How tenuous. We will limp along politically if we continue to lean so heavily on these half healed sleights._


	34. Too Fast, Too Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020  
Changed Devin and Gavin to Devar and Galen

Duke Riegan, Claude, a flagging Lorenz, Lalia, House Riegan's war general, and several senior servants of the Duke's personal guard filled the table in the Duke's conference room. 

"For those unaware, two hours ago, a poorly devised attack took place outside of the estate walls while Claude and Lord Lorenz engaged in wyvern training over the east forest. We have investigated what was left of the attacker; there was only a minor tome, so soaked with blood as to be illegible. There was nothing else found in the remaining gore to establish any connection to their employer." The Duke looked around the room, then focused in on Claude. "The handful of people in this room are those I trust among present staff and residents. You should become familiar with them over the next months."

"Yes Duke." Since Claude's arrival, they had maintained separate allegiances within the House: due in part to Claude's paranoia, but also to maintain a degree of separation between the Duke and Claude's underhanded ways. The Duke insinuating that division should begin dissolution was alarming.

Lorenz and Claude were incensed to find Morven placed among them. Lorenz leaned into Claude to whisper:

"Morven is senior staff?"

"... _Apparently_." Claude said in a grumble. Lorenz raised his eyebrows. _Senior staff for the Duke, after a year's tenure? And yet he thought it more beneficial to transfer to House Gloucester? Let us hope his grand schemes amounted to seducing me and nothing more._

The Duke continued after a brief pause of two short coughs, and a sip of water.

"You are, most of you, aware of the plan I had laid out for three weeks from now. They have been moved forward; they will take place during the recess of the Roundtable on Thursday. Claude and Lord Gloucester will be escorted ahead of schedule to the Riegan Apartments in Derdriu. Cassiopeia will take point, Devar and Galen will flank them." Cassiopeia was the knight who had questioned Claude in the infirmary; who later questioned Lorenz. She was a serious, older woman with cherry brown hair and a halberd. Joining her were twins, their turquoise features highlighted by their dark skin; each in white and gold robes, with a set of lances. They were quiet and formidable for their age.

Despite his malaise, Lorenz leaned forward in his chair at the development, the casual mention of secret plans. Claude cleared his throat.

"Duke, Lorenz and I have not been briefed on these 'plans.' Could you summarize them for us?"

"Later. You five will be leaving immediately, while there is still daylight." He motioned to the three guards and they moved to the door to wait. "Before you depart, however..."

The Duke made a motion to another interior servant, pointing up at the wall. They brought a latter that was previously concealed, and placed it in front of the plaque where Failnought hang high above them. Claude stood in anticipation as they removed it carefully; the servant returned it to the Duke, holding it as though it may bite.

"You're going to take this, Claude, for the time being. I don't want it unattended while enemies are in range, while we are both away in Derdriu: and I can hardly pull it myself anymore." The Duke announced. He lowered his voice. "I do not think now is the time- or that you are ready. But you must realize life thrusts us into these positions, always one step ahead of our own plans. Use it wisely. Use it sparingly. This is no weapon to be carelessly wielded: it is a monster barely tamed. It is _only_ a last resort."

Claude nodded slowly. When he finally took it in hand, his skin prickled and warmed, his ears rang softly. He had held it many times before, pulled it once or twice: but now it was entrusted to him. The burden and the thrill made him feel like he was flying again.

"Thank you, Grandfather. I know I'm not ready to use it... but I'll keep it safe." The Duke nodded solemnly in approval.

Lorenz noted that Lalia was seated at the Duke's right hand, and that she did not rise to join them when they readied to leave.

"I presume there is space for Lalia on our expedition?" Lorenz asked.

"Lalia is staying at my request. Cassiopeia will attend you until tomorrow."

"Forgive my protest, Duke, but Lalia is my retainer: as a Knight and Maid of House Gloucester, her place is with me."

"We require her skill and tactical expertise." Lorenz looked to Lalia, and to Claude: neither of them seemed surprised at this development, only worried. The old rivalry rose in Lorenz, his Gloucester ego being doubly injured by Duke Riegan seizing his friend and retainer. Lorenz added a veneer of disdain to his tone.

"That you recognize her ability is most flattering, but it is very nonstandard to enlist a Lord's personal retainer when his own life is in danger. You have my apologies for your own _ill prepared_ knights, but I must decline her aid."

The Duke looked annoyed; not the reaction Lorenz expected. He had prepared himself for the Duke to challenge him openly. He only looked fatigued... maybe even pained. Lalia leaned over to Duke Riegan, whispering. He waved some approval, and she rose to join Lorenz, walking him to the door.

"Lorenz; Cassiopeia is an expert flyer and guard: I trust her completely. There are things I need to do here."

"What things? Lalia- is there to be fighting? You cannot fight without me-" Claude tried to limp faster in time with their tall stride to overhear.

"No fighting, only planning." She glanced back at the Duke, who waited on her to continue.

"Why are you involved?"

"I will explain tomorrow, when I join you in Derdriu."

"... I do not like this." He turned and took Lalia by the shoulders. "You will tell me _everything_ tomorrow." She smiled sadly, and placed her hand over his.

"Safe journey." Lorenz hugged her closely, shaken by the days events. 

"Take caution, Lalia, and be at the Apartments early." Lorenz instructed, wishing to exert _some_ control over the situation. They left in the company of the three senior guards.

* * *

After donning their armor and gathering some necessities, each under guard, Claude and Lorenz made their way down the front walk with Cassiopeia. Claude clutched Failnought in front of him like a prize.

"'I'm not ready to use it yet' you said to him. I have never seen a bolder lie." Lorenz commented, leaning heavily on Cassiopeia.

"Just because I'm not ready to use it yet doesn't mean I'm not going to practice with it. Practice is a necessity." He grinned widely, despite their current endangerment. While they waited at the front gate, Devar and Galen returned with four wyverns.

"How is Thassia?" Claude asked. They could do nothing to restore her tail- what had been caught in the gale was obliterated.

"Angry, but healed." Devar offered curtly. Galen elaborated.

"She'll adjust to her new balance in no time, being so young. She will still be a fine wyvern."

Having been distracted by Failnought, and Thassia's recovery, Lorenz realized they had overlooked a rather plain conflict.

"Claude, how am I supposed to fly to Derdriu with Thyrsus? The wyverns will not accept it."

"Well... the plan is to see if King will take you."

"King? The one who just ate a man in front of me?" He drew very little attention in the wyviary earlier between Alev and Thassia's distinct personalities, large but quiet. His taste of human flesh was the only personality trait Lorenz knew of him. "Is he of the breed that is not sensitive to magic?" He asked, trying to put the earlier nightmare out of his mind.

"No, he's a typical wyvern: he just doesn't care. There's something wrong with him. I mean, you still can't cast openly, but he's carried staves and major tomes before."

"... What's wrong with him?"

"The Duke said he was raised by Uncle Godfrey, and that he changed when he passed away... and, you noticed, he’s a man-eater."

“...Are you implying that is not the first time?”

“No, it’s not... I mean, He’s only eaten enemy mages, even though all our wyverns are trained not to eat anyone- even enemies. Usually man-eaters are _humanely discarded_; but the Duke is sentimental, and I don’t think it’s right. The Wyvern Lord over the stables doesn’t appreciate it, though.”

"Morbid."

When King Landed, Lorenz looked more closely at him. He could see an indifference about him now, and felt a little sad for the wyvern. But still wary. Someone had taken the time, at least, to wash the blood from his brown-black scales.

"King is a little trickier to meet: keep Thyrsus on your back, but go real slow. _Don't_ put your hand out."

Unlike other wyverns who were wary, and seemed to be most at ease crouched, King sat up straight and still, largely ignoring them. Lorenz did as he was told, approaching slowly. The wyvern made no move to acknowledge him, until a single yellow eye rolled down to watch Lorenz pass closer to him. King was too still; rigid, like a dog preparing to attack. Lorenz stopped at his shoulder.

King brought his head down slowly, and tapped Thyrsus with the tip of his nose: curious. He huffed and returned to his regal pose.

"Well, that's the best reaction I've seen to date." Claude walked up to them. "King Down." He obeyed very deliberately, unhurried, bringing himself down to climbing height. A double saddle was already in place. Rather than dread it as he had before, Lorenz was grateful: he was still experiencing vertigo from the earlier mishap. _Better for defense as well._

In minutes, Galen had Lorenz braced, hooked, strapped in without a single word, while Claude took care of his own gear. Claude took his seat in the front of the saddle and they were ready to fly, waiting only for Galen to mount.

"Lord Claude, Lord Lorenz." Cassiopeia addressed them. Knight and Lady, she spoke to them equally, and maybe with a touch of condescension at their youth. "The goal is to get the both of you to Derdriu with as minimal harm as possible. Considering the reckless and singular nature of the earlier attack, we do not expect another. However, you are not to fight if an attack does occur.

"Yes, Lady Cassiopeia."

"Good. Let us be off." She spurred her own wyvern to a running start and ascended.

* * *

The sunset was soothing. Despite the vigilance required of them, Lorenz could not muster any more resolve for the day. He leaned into Claude readily, resting his forehead on his shoulder as renewed dizziness overtook him. When it abated, he watched the clouds pass for some time: all fiery pinks and glazed in golden streaks. His only major concern was ensuring Failnought did not slip from in between them: Claude could not properly wear it on his back riding double saddle, so it lay flat across Lorenz's legs between them, pressing against his chest plate. It was warm against the wind.

For the duration of the flight, they saw other wyverns and their riders: heading to Derdriu for tomorrow’s Roundtable. None were hostile. Unlike their training earlier, they were too high up for a ground attack: or at least one that was not of immense power. They were able to relax.

Lorenz felt what Lalia meant of the muscle movements earlier: it was most prominent when King rose and descended, but even at a glide Claude adjusted for the cross currents of wind that buffeted them. He would feel his left leg push inward, and King would adjust by skewing left ever so slightly. That was not all he noted. Their armor and the relic bow separated them, but they were hip to hip, leg to leg down to their knees. Whenever Claude pushed into the stirrups to maneuver, he pressed into Lorenz's lap without intention. It preoccupied Lorenz for the remainder of the flight. 

_My damned appetite. I was so concerned these few days would pass in languish. Wish they had._ He wondered what Claude was thinking; where they could possibly stand after the events of the day. Lorenz had intended to seize on Claude's good mood after riding wyvern to have the Much Needed Talk they had been avoiding since he arrived last month; the few words they exchanged earlier in the infirmary left the matter unresolved. _That may not be possible now. There may not be time; the demands of us will only increase._

_No. There is time now._ The wind was fairly calm; if he pressed his mouth against Claude's ear and guarded it from the air passing, he should be able to hear him clearly. Lorenz had plenty of time to clear his head now, and fully consider what the attack signified; what he wanted and why; how _he_ at least wanted to move forward. But he must be concise. 

"Claude, I want you to listen to me."

He flinched at Lorenz's hot breath in his ear, but nodded in acknowledgement when he comprehended the words.

"We have both outgrown the way we used to be. I know I cannot express these new feelings, reach a resolution treading the same beaten path. We are trapped in the ruts of our youth." He reiterated their earlier conversation. 

At this promising start, Claude turned his head so that Lorenz did not have to twist so awkwardly to reach his ear.

"In struggling to control these feeling I have, they are instead controlling me: and I have _so_ tired of this restrained longing in the past weeks."

"I am sure there are many actions, many feelings you likewise no longer have use for; habits you struggle to break."

"I said we should start anew as if meeting after so many years that we have forgotten how it was... but perhaps not so long we have lost the sense of friendship- the good memories..."

"...The late nights. The bonds we build apart from our dissolved rivalry... I am willing for those bonds to be closer still."

At this, Lorenz wrapped his arms fully around Claude to resume his riding posture; he would not be able to answer him until they landed.

He harbored very little hope of recovering any intimacy. Even though their grievances were currently on hold, surely Claude found him repulsive: after seeing him spread out in the dirt of the training ground; after he was petty enough to his private letters; seeing him fainted for no reason at all, weak.

In Lorenz's mind, there was nothing left to redeem him. He felt lowly, as though he were only using Claude to bolster his confidence after a series of failures. He had used Claude many times before- but now he felt the remorse. Now he meant the words he said.

"Lorenz!" Claude yelled back over the wind, his shoulders twisting awkwardly. Lorenz gave him space, leaning to his left to answer.

Claude rolled his own head back over his left shoulder, reaching his right arm full around to seize the back of Lorenz's head. Perhaps it was the unbalance, or the awkward posture; but it felt more like desperation when he pulled Lorenz down by his hair, to crash into his mouth. The bad angle made for a mess of teeth and one cut lip for Claude, but the kiss was the imperfect flagstone on a new path. He pulled away after only moments, unable to maintain the twisting posture.

"Not that far!" He yelled, all smiles and one bloody lip. Unsatisfied, Lorenz settled for breathing in Claude's hair. Claude took his hand where it was wrapped across his chest.

* * *

They arrived over a busy Derdriu, an overabundance of wyvern and horses; the influx of people and their steeds could be viewed bustling about the city from the top of the Wyviary at Riegan Hall. It was a breathtaking view: Riegan Hall sat on the only hill in the city, that bumped up modestly from the flat landscape. To stand atop the 100 foot tall wyviary gave them a panorama view of the Aquatic Capital at sunset, and out across the sea. Cassiopeia stood by the stairs, while Devar and Galen lead the wyverns to their roosts.

"Do you think, perhaps, we should flesh out our one sided conversation on the flight here?" Lorenz asked while in dismount, helping to release King from his saddle. 

"Why ruin something perfect? You meant what you said, right?"

"Well yes, but it is much more nuanced... I admit there is some entertainment to rebuffing you. I am not so sure I can stop being haughty. What other dynamic is truer to our friendship? What would be left, were you to stop harassing me?"

"...You're saying it's going to be exactly the same as it was before?"

"Well, no. I mean- perhaps the words may be the same, but less the blame and deceit." Lorenz struggled. 

"... I'm not unwilling to keep the game going; as long as we can come to some sort of agreement. The moment you blame me again, though: that's it. I'm done."

"It seems we have come to an understanding. Let us take up a new arrangement... like you have with the Duke."

"What? You're my Grandfather when we're at home, and the Duke when-"

"Ah! A comedian! If I were _your_ grandfather, I would have had a heart attack by now-"

"Oh? Gloucester men are so weak?"

"No, we have a sense of shame... What I mean is that you and I establish clear boundaries. We are Lords in public, nothing more. It may perhaps serve to even appear at odds."

"That's true... I told Alvina to inform Lord Morley we were fighting. I didn't expect it to ACTUALLY happen, but we should still act the part."

"Fortunate we have so much experience. Then- Lords in public, in times alone... a more casual recreational demeanor." When Lorenz drew the last words out suggestively, Claude blushed a deep red: a rare and tantalizing view. "I see that is to your liking."

"...How casual?"

"_Shoes off_." It was a polite euphemism, dubious in meaning depending on station... but what it meant Lord to Lord was not lost on Claude. He looked apprehensive at the thought, as though he still did not believe Lorenz after years of being tricked and scorned.

"...Why now?"

"Must you make it so complicated?" Lorenz began to make his way for the stairs, but turned back when he realized he was, quite literally, running from the question. He drew close to Claude "...Maybe I am too tired to maintain this constant vigilance; to which my response is to simply to give up. Give in. And why not? Have I not been through enough?" He threw his hands up as if he had touched something disgusting.

If he considered it truly, Lorenz could trace the path of his resolve straight through the center of Morven's scheme. Claude and Lorenz's childish push and pull would have taken years to sort out: but by Morven's treachery they had in the past days brought to surface everything that was wrong not just in their relation to one another, but in themselves._ It was harsh and painful, like pulling out a knife so a wound can be healed. I was even forced to confront Hilda's imperfections, and my undue obsession with her. A problem for another day. _Of course, Lorenz could tell Claude none of this. He wouldn't accept it in any degree any time soon.

Claude nodded slowly, but still did not seem convinced. 

"To make good on my word, another token of goodwill." Lorenz announced. He removed his gloves and tucked them into his chest plate.

Lorenz 'made good on his word' by placing two fingers on Claude's cut lip. He concentrated, a soft, warm glow pulsing over the cut until it was sealed. 

"... I didn't know you could use faith magic." Claude whispered when he was done.

"Barely. I picked it up after seeing... I began learning of necessity." Lorenz did not release Claude, sliding his fingers against his jaw, catching the stubble that was rapidly becoming a beard in neglect. He scratched it slowly as he pulled him forward. Claude resisted some, perhaps just to say he tried if the defense was still needed. He soon relented and placed his own hand over Lorenz's. He pushed his face into Lorenz's palm, following the pull of his fingers, letting out another long breath held in apprehension.

Lorenz leaned down, pressing his lips to Claude's jaw, just beneath his ear. "Come to me" he whispered- unsure if it would be too so soon, again, to kiss him fully. He left that decision up to him.

Claude turned away from Lorenz's hand, hovering nose to nose for a moment. When it came, the kiss was hesitant. Soft and slow- nothing like their earlier fervent clashing. For a moment Lorenz seemed to pull away, causing Claude's heart to skip- _another lie_ he thought reflexively, his body bracing for the rejection. But Lorenz only adjusted to turn himself more fully into the embrace.

Claude moved closer, his body relaxing further for each moment that passed without Lorenz shoving him away in disgust. To kiss, fully, without being inebriated, or pretending it was a dream; to part lips in broad daylight instead of the curtains being drawn, the moon out: it was the new feeling they both craved.

After minutes had passed, when he did pull away, Lorenz did so carefully; Claude expected Lorenz's expression to turn to it's usual shame and revulsion... But it did not come.

Cassiopeia cleared her throat, insinuating they would not wait much longer. Claude pulled the Deer Key from his pocket.

"It's probably too soon- I don't want you to use this, but I still want you to have it: in case of an attack or something. It works here at the apartments, too."

"I discovered that some days ago. But is the door frame not shattered?"

"I had it fixed ahead of our arrival."

"Of course you would." Lorenz took back his key. It was cold, but he had missed the weight. _It's returned to me twice- I shouldn't lose it again._

The resolution was superficial: it would work for the week, and it would have many __pleasurable_ _benefits...

...But there was still much they refused to broach.


	35. Lord Adalius Benettos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-24-2020

When they left the wyviary, Claude invited Lorenz to the west end conference room in one hour. Much as Lorenz wanted to find his guest bed and continue sleeping off the days stresses, there were many things that had been neglected in his and Claude's dispute. Lorenz made sure to bring Lalia's report with him, to share with everything that he had discovered. Claude's small force worked more in delivering lies, carrying messages, making friends and sabotaging enemies. Lalia was a maid for pure information and numbers consolidation: working alone, that was the most she could manage to gather while also keeping proximity to Lorenz. It was certainly the type of information Claude would neglect- or only gather in pieces: he and his spies were more inclined to action and reaction.

The small conference room was cozy compared to the Duke's impressive conference room at Riegan Estate. It was not meant for more than five people, and so the table was arranged intimately, the low ceiling carved with fine detail; the walls were bare enough not to distract and the sophisticated colors were soothing. Claude and Lorenz took a corner of the table to spread out the various sheets of Lalia's report while Lorenz explained what he found, referring across the pages. 

_Despite the subject matter, this is comfortable. I dread the thought of how grating this might be if we were still at odds. _Claude ran his ankle over Lorenz's casually while they continued to talk. Where once this might have been a cause for a reprimand, an argument, now it was calming: taking the edge off of the tense conversation. _A welcome distraction._ Lorenz resettled in his seat, restive at the attention.

"This is awful." Claude concluded at last. "I feel so stupid, I should have seen this sooner." He poured over the pages again, scanning the notes Lorenz had made in the margins of Lalia's writing.

"If you had, what could be done? House Riegan, especially not you alone, cannot impose sanctions or send out some... some inquisition. What they are doing is innocent by the law."

"Yeah, but I could have sabotaged some of it. Made it so that supporting the Empire made them fall on an _unfortunate_ stroke of bad luck- enough that continuing would jeopardize their wealth."

"...You have enough manpower to do that?"

"Manpower? No. It would be tricky, but with a little finesse I could spread out the few people I _do_ have to wreak _just enough_ havoc." He grimaced.

"Well... it may not be too late. But it might be more obvious if you begin now: I am sure everyone's stance on the war will come to light in the week ahead."

"True. We need to agree on where you and I will stand publicly. I mentioned earlier, I told Alvina to 'inform' Lord Morley that we're at odds."

"To the public, Gloucesters and Riegans generally are. That is hardly news."

"Right now, because House Riegan is hosting you, people are generally suspicious that we are working together. I'm going to spread around that House Riegan is hosting you out of propriety, to appear benevolent- but that we are still rivals. I want to keep up the image, so that way if it's ever more beneficial for you to appear to challenge me, it'll seem genuine."

"So no hand holding in public?" Lorenz quipped without looking up from the paper he studied. He wrapped his ankle around Claude's to run his foot up and down his calf. "We have only just reconciled- how tragic."

"Right." _I thought this was supposed to be easier_. Claude became restless with talking. "...With the Roundtable in convention, it's likely that your loyalties will come into question: people, Lords of every sort are going to approach you in private and ask you to take a side. Other than that: no coming to my defense. Admonish me from time to time, openly, and more scathing one on one wit other Lords."

"Do you think that is wise? I host quite the following, apparently; people may very well take my rebuke to heart and turn on you earnestly." He leaned forward on the table, sighing in irritation. "They may riot for me to lead them in your stead."

"... I don't know. I can't think right now."

"Distracted?" Lorenz inclined his head; his tone suggesting he was ignorant at the cause.

"Maybe it's time for a break... We've been at this for two hours, and that's after training, being attacked, and travelling all in the same day..." He yawned as if listing everything reminded him how tired he should be. "I said something stupid earlier, about it being 'too soon' to use the Deer Key, but I changed my mind."

"I thought it very graceful, very earnest that you would delay your satisfaction, giving us time to recover emotionally. Losing your composure so quickly... It's shameful." He smiled politely, removing his leg from Claude's. He began to sort and stack all of the papers they spread out.

"Didn't you insinuate Riegan's had no shame? You're right. I don't." He moved forward in his chair, his braced leg clunking awkwardly into the table. "Like I would reign myself in for something like dignity; I'd rather kick."

"No shame, no dignity, no patience. It's why you suffer so unnecessarily." Lorenz tapped his gathered papers against the desk, growing in amusement. "But I think it is truly too soon. Maybe you need to suffer just a little bit more: if you're creative, it can be just as satisfying. I know_ I_ am glad Lalia will not be staying in my room tonight."

"...You're _awful_." Claude complained.

"I _am_ cruel." At this, Lorenz ran his hand up Claude's thigh briefly; he let his hand stroke once, twice between his legs, then left him with a soft squeeze. "You need to heal. Goodnight Claude."

"Huh... 'night."

_This is not what I intended: it's been hardly 48 hours since our... _my_ blunder. But it would be a welcome distraction from the politics._ _Ten gold he does not make it to his room_. He heard the step-_clunk _ofClaude's uneven gait, then the conference room door locked behind him. _Aha. _

* * *

The next morning, they were all business: arranged over tea and breakfast in a private sitting room. Lalia had returned first thing, by wyvern, ahead of the Duke's procession. She dozed on the couch; looking ghastly, as though the conference lasted until dawn. Lorenz let her be; he would ask for details later, but now their Derdriu matters were more paramount.

"Let us recount all of the nonsense we have ingrained ourselves in. Lord Morely was having an affair with Jericho many years ago, something happened, now he wants the girls as heirs: either for their crests, or because he considers them to be his kin, after a fashion." Lorenz began.

"That's one." Claude looked nearly as tired as Lalia. _Up all night with his hands, no doubt. _Lorenz mused with satisfaction before continuing.

"Jericho and his daughters, then, require protection: which has been provided. The girls will leave with Judith during the week. Have you even spoken to her about it?"

"I sent her a letter. We're meeting later today."

"Hm. The more frightening matter, I agreed to a meeting with Lord Adalius, and now I have received a message with the time and the place." He pulled the black envelope from his jacket pocket. "In the City Hall, just an hour before the Rountable. He means to frighten me before they convene; I presume something is going to occur at the Roundtable the will build on our meeting."

"You sound almost as paranoid as me..." Claude took the letter, reading the three lines of invitation.

"Yes. Well. That brings us back around: the Benettos vault was breached, with nothing inside; which will be blamed on Morley. We have to determine if he is in danger, if we should leave him to his fate, or if he is a possible ally... should all of this personal obsession with Jericho and crests remain locked in his bedroom."

"Is that all? That doesn't seem like everything."

"It's more than enough with the Benettos being a major part of it. The only issues we are neglecting are... household." He hesitated to mention Morven, but it was not wholly personal. "Claude, I am loathe to speak of him, but _how_ is Morven senior staff with the Duke? It puts me ill at ease."

"Don't know. He was always with the general servants, I thought he was just entry level. That's why I recruited him to my own purposes." He chose his next words carefully, trying to decide if he could stay civil speaking of Morven. "...What do you think he had planned? Just to split us up, to make me weaker politically?"

"...The more I consider it, honestly, without being self preserving... I believe he may have been telling the truth. That he was 'exposing to two young lovers a flaw that a true enemy would seize on readily.' " Claude recoiled slightly, crossing his arms and bracing against the chair. "If you consider it truthfully, we resolved in two days matters that we have been avoiding for two years. Though... there is more... He was rather forward about. About. Merely wanting to seduce me for no gain at all." Lorenz blushed in shame at saying the words aloud. he despised that his truthfulness incriminated him, reminding them both of his failings.

"I see." Claude stewed for several minutes. "Well, all I know is that he's a good spy, until he messed up with the Benettos and the Vaults. But maybe that was a sham... He at least has contact with a master forger."

"How did you discover that?"

"... The letter you brought me. From Hilda." It was Lorenz's turn to cross his arms and retreat into the back of his chair. "I'm not gonna pretend... we aren't.... involved, slightly. But more importantly, the letter itself was wrong. She never wrote that."

"That is unbelievable." _There was something else, something else amiss I am forgetting. Oh yes-_ "On that note... you said that I yelled at you on my way to the Training Ground, on the front walk. But I went out of the Kitchen Hall." 

"Are you sure? That was you. Your voice, your body language. I am familiar enough with the way you yell at me."

"I am positive I never passed you. The comment slipped by me in our argument, but I went straight to the training ground without interruption... could it be Morven? Could he be an Illusionist?"

"Too rare. The most anyone in Fodlan can cast is a heavy fog: if he was from Brigid, maybe. But he's from the kingdom. We have proof of him being in a mercenary band."

"He mentioned briefly his interest, but... you are right. Who would train him? And he's too young to both have traveled and mastered such a technique."

"Which means he's working with someone. Might explain his interest. Definitely explains how he forged the letter... it can't be easy to cast a whole person though."

"Easy? It should not be possible. It is a horrifying notion." Lorenz huffed, worried. "It's getting late, let us eat."

They left the subject to finish their breakfast, each scouring what they knew of the Riegan Estate staff: neither could find anyone obvious who would have been in the right place at the right time, who was old enough, traveled widely, or foreign born. _But that is the point of an illusionist, is it not? To hide in plain sight. Who does Morven talk to the most... it might have to be one of the Duke's senior staff. Those twins are not from here... They look to be from Morfis, putting them nearby the city of Illusion itself._

The Twin Knights flanked the sitting room door; he could hear the talking in low whispers. Or arguing, it was difficult to tell. Their facial expressions never matched their words, but they were _always_ talking- mostly about lance techniques. It grated on Lorenz to no end... but they did not seem motivated enough. If they were trying to manipulate household affairs, they would be more vocal, using their discretion as senior guard to their advantage. But they were stoic and silent at the most critical times. And Claude did not seem wary of them. 

Lorenz finished his meal- barely touched, in his apprehension at meeting with Lord Adalius. 

"I should depart. Lord Adalius wishes to meet at ten, but I should be early."

"I'm coming with you."

"I do not believe you should... Adalius already knows we are close enough for you to accompany me to the funeral partway. We should put on the cool distance you were speaking of."

"Right, right... damn. I'll leave ten minutes behind you." He stood, leg still braced and tried to walk without his crutch. "I'm going to the infirmary to get this leg fixed the right way."

"Claude- you know it has to finish healing on it's own. Faith magic only works completely if you are close to someone- and I doubt you are secretly best friends with the Healer here."

"I can't go to the Roundtable like this..." He eyed Lorenz. "...You healed my lip. We're... close. Fix up my leg." Lorenz scoffed.

"I have little to no training. Lalia taught me that trick with small cuts, so unless you want your leg off worse, you will rest." Claude limped out the room, neglecting his crutch and ignoring Lorenz's advice.

"I'll be in the lobby of City Hall, if anything happens, you come running."

"What, you will clunk your way to my rescue? Stay here."

"No."

"Fine. Follow twenty minutes after."

"Fifteen."

"No less."

Lorenz and Lalia made for the stables and they left for City Hall.

* * *

The City Hall was grandiose, but to reach the ancillary rooms, they entered through a side door that conducted them to the basement. It was still marvelous: polished stone walls interrupted only by sculpted bronze facades that depicted the formation of the Alliance: companionate to the even larger panoramas they would find in the primary lobby. Glass sconces graced even intervals between the facades, making a warm atmosphere against the cream stone walls.

"Welcome, Lord Gloucester." A Benettos Maid, in all black by House standard, met them in the lower lobby and directed them to the meeting room. Lalia eyed her suspiciously, but the woman only bared her teeth in a cruel smile.

"Do not worry, lizard, you are no enemy of House Benettos... as of yet." The woman brushed the back of her hand across Lalia's eyebrow affectionately. Lalia said nothing, remaining stoic. Just as the maid let down her guard, however, Lalia lunged at the woman, snapping her teeth just short of her face. The maid paled for a moment, and resumed her duties silent and shaken.

_Lizard? A nickname? A slur within the Maid occupation? I thought it was another way to say wyvern. I've never seen Lalia behave so crassly._ Lorenz might have considered it further, but then he saw Lord Adalius.

Arranged like a simmering dragon, sitting taller than the wing-back chair that barely supported him, Adalius looked over them: clearly pleased by their discomfort. He had looked much smaller at the wake, from a distance; much shorter from horseback at the gate. Here surrounded by ordinary people and ordinary furniture, Lorenz found him to be one of the most formidable men he had ever crossed. His red hair was crossed with silver, his black clothes with copper features, all points and edges

They gathered behind a low couch to receive his greeting.

"I welcome you once more, Lord Gloucester. You're confidence at the gate some weeks ago impressed me; I truly did mean to turn you away. By the look on your face, I'm sure you regret your arrogance now." He laughed, deep and imposing. "I am Lord Adalius Benettos, Head of our House."

"Pleased to formally meet you, Lord Adalius. This is my retainer, Lalia." Adalius inclined his head.

"It is my pleasure to meet such a regal maid. Perhaps you could make my bed in the morning-"

"Lalia has other duties to attend to for the duration of the week. She is a retainer and a maid of a most Noble House and you will treat her with due respect." Lorenz cut him off; the turn of phrase made him boil. It was a condescending euphemism used from nobility to servants insinuating they could be bought and sold for bedservice. He had been intimidated by the mysterious Lord, but his base commentary diminished that greatly: it made him just another tactless man. He was now more incensed on Lalia's behalf. "I will end this meeting now if you are of such a poorly class that you cannot conduct yourself accordingly."

The gate keep, the grandfather, the head of the family simply laughed. Loud, deep.

"Sit, Lord Gloucester, all your posturing cannot hide your disdain or your fear. I heard rumors that you were so sincere, even when it put you in danger. Come now, it was only a test." Lorenz walked Lalia to the couch, sitting down after her as a show of respect.

"If you continue to conduct such tests, the only result will be my ever lessening respect for you, which is already critically low."

"Do you believe that is wise to state aloud?"

"It is sincere, as you said; since you seem to admire that trait, I am only doing you a courtesy by putting it on full display." Lorenz took a deep breath, marked by a sneer. "Say what you wish; my time is short and you have already wasted much of it." 

"Ahaha! I see why Amory likes you."

"Who is Amory?" Lorenz remembered the name; he intended to find out as much as he could. _Though it will be difficult; such a secretive and secluded house._

"My fifth son. He was telling me he took an interest in you."

"He must have me confused; I have never met him."

"Your reputation is enough for his affections, it would seem. Many people speak so fondly of you, putting you on such a shining pedestal: nothing like your father they say. They are wrong, of course: I am sure you have the same envious, treacherous blood in you as any Gloucester."

"You seem to have confused me for Lord Riegan." Lorenz planted the first seed of mistruth to aid in the rumors of division. The Lord laughed at him again.

"A terrible liar, but I will take it as fact if that is how you wish to cast it." Lorenz faltered; it must have shown on his face. Adalius smiled more broadly at this. "But never mind Lord Riegan; he was our original target to arrive at the funeral, but you were more interesting than he could have ever been." 

Lorenz panicked internally; _they were trying to get to Claude, not me?_

"Allow me to explain. Everything. I prefer openness when trying to gain an ally." He drank deeply from his wineglass before continuing. "We Benettos have been a fairly neutral party, desiring merely to be left to our devices, without interference. Our family has had no interest in politics for the duration of our name, but that is changing. It is time the Crest of Timotheos returned to the world and took it's rightful place as a political power. It is our desire to sit at the Roundtable, and steer the Alliance back toward the freedom that founded it, and to reject the Empire's Dictatorship. Meeting with Claude was the first step to that goal , but you seem more tractable. Less elusive."

"I see; you are naturally opposed to Edelgard, given your rare crest and the power it will bring you." Lorenz answered with any dignity he could muster. "You believe Claude to be of the same opinion."

"Not so much Edelgard and her paltry goals. That silly child has many tragic and wholly incorrect notions about the world." He took another sip of wine after so casually dismissing the most ruthless emperor of their time as 'silly child.' "Our only concern is that House which she lets run rampant across the Empire."

"I am aware that your family branched off some 97 years prior; would that be the house you speak of?" Lorenz's voice finally steadied with his interest.

"Yes. Great Aunt Amalya Benettos. We are by no means pure of heart, but that woman and her spawn were grisly in their dealings. She was chased out, but her line unfortunately thrived. Would that she and all of her children perished in the journey, Fodlan would be a much kinder place... and we did try to make sure she never made it out." He smirked at their failure to murder their ancestors, while peering through Lorenz. "Your information is very good. I thought we had tied up every loose end, but here you are with a sliver of information on our family history."

"Supposing I am not the only one you share all your secrets with, it is of no surprise that such small details are in circulation."

"You are a first; I desire to quench your curiosity to gain your trust... but I can also tell you are an intelligent man; I am not concerned that you are foolish enough to divulge our secrets. However, you may do so to the Riegan Heir. Tell him whatever you like."

Lorenz had no response. Adalius continued.

"I suppose you cannot tell me why our family branched off?"

"A disagreement, I would assume."

"Vague enough, but yes. The Ochs House- the name my Great Grand Aunt eventually secured- deals in the same sort of blood magic, also concerning crests. She and her brother, our progenitor, had a disagreement about... let us call it ethics. How far one should go to seek knowledge, what price in blood was acceptable to force an unnatural experiment to succeed. The sister was more ruthless, the brother more intelligent."

_Ochs. So they are related to Monica and... those creatures._

"What sort of crest magic?" Lorenz's curiosity gave him another modicum of strength.

"The brother and sister both asked themselves a question: never mind what crests are or how they work, can we transfer them between people? Can we bestow them and take them away? Both succeeded in their own way, with varying intensity and vastly differing blood price, with different goals."

"And you say... they are running the Empire?" His mouth was dry at the thought that they were ingrained into the Empire's bloody ranks... but it explained the similar runes being used for diverse purpose across the two branches of the family: one for splitting people in half on the battlefield, one for sundering the crests from corpses. Lorenz refused the thought, lest he should faint in such a vulnerable position.

"In part. There is another party involved, however, that we know nothing of." He shifted back to their work. "Unlike Edelgard, we have recently synthesized our progenitors techniques to bestow crests with little to no bloodshed."

"I see that it requires a corpse at least."

"That is such a tasteless way to frame it... Crests are wasted on those who's lives end in their natural course. This is the law we follow... mostly. We have been known to utilize the crests of those who turn against us. I should mention common knowledge of this technique would upset the present balance of crest power, with deathly consequence. Speaking earnestly, the effect of crests on society or equality is not our concern."

"What_ is_ your goal, then?"

"... Whether or not it could be done, at first. We are fervent mages foremost, hungry for knowledge, to test the limits of our power. That lead us to the desire to give any crest freely, to family, to friends, to pawns. Anyone desperate for a crest will willingly serve us; in turn, after their agreement is up, we give them the power to succeed in this world."

"And how long are these terms?"

"It varies, based on the intensity of service, the seniority of the servant. The available bodies."

"You are exploiting people." Lorenz thought how piteous it must be, enslaving commoners without crests by such a promise. _And what if they do not fulfill their goal? What if they fail, or the Benettos change their terms? They would have a veritable army of hopefuls that they never need to deliver for._

"No. I am taking years of their labor, their life in exchange for both the life that is lost and the work that we must to for a successful bestowing. It is absolutely equitable if you consider it closely."

_Now we know why the maid cut contract with House Riegan. She was in love with Marco, but also hoped to gain a crest. Passion and Power: two most tempting motivators._

"You, Lord Gloucester. Do you not desire a major crest? Surely you have seen the immense power they bestow in compare to a minor one." He continued.

It was true; at the monastery, Byleth, Catherine and Felix stood out among the rest. They cut down enemies with little effort, capable of guarding an entire flank each on their own. Only Lysithea, with her Minor Crest of Charon and intense studies, could match them. They were awe inspiring, but frightening.

"It is tantalizing, to be sure, but I have no desire to be beholden for decades." _Or to have someone sacrificed for my sake._ He declined to reveal to them that he was so soft-hearted. Lorenz decided ignoring the refreshments made him appear weak willed. Since Adalius seemed passively interested to use him as a pawn, it was unlikely there were any tricks or poison. Lorenz took up his cup, only for Lalia to take it from his hands and drink first. Lorenz waited while Adalius continued.

"Decades? No. Your position grants you more leniency. We could give you a Major Crest of Gloucester, while you continue with your plans. We would call on you at a later time, when your influence is needed."

"You seem to believe I wield any influence. Our name is falling into disrepute." Seeing Lalia still alive, he drank from the cup. 

"With a Major Crest, you could wrest the title of Count from your father easily, displacing him and restoring the dignity of House Gloucester. All in time, of course: and I'm willing to gamble on it. I have so little to lose. You are useless without influence, but the crest can give it to you. It would be a 'lending against interest' situation." He paused. "Or you could become a holder of a Major Timotheos Crest. You would join our house, in that case; cast off your treacherous father's name. You are a gifted mage, are you not? We only extend this crest to those who are already promising."

The Crest of Timotheos meant nothing to Lorenz, but the Major Crest of Gloucester... It was beyond tempting. Lorenz took great pride in his name, as cursed as it had become in the mouths of those faithful to Seiros and those who treasure independence. The sooner he could restore it, the better he could sleep at night. He could seize the vaults. He could sit at the Roundtable. He could be of more use to Claude, to move against the Duke and challenge his inactive posture.

The temptation was dangerous, but superficial. While Lorenz considered all other implications Lord Adalius took his silence for an invitation to offer an alternative.

"You know, this is all so rudely sinister. Too serious. Let us talk more casually: no mention of power, crests, any of that. Social arrangements are made for many reasons. Perhaps marriage into House Benettos would suit you more?" Lorenz considered the eager woman, Franziska, who clung to his arm at the funeral. It made him sick to consider such an overbearing woman; again, Lord Adalius read his face with precision.

"Pay no heed to my daughter Franziska- she has no interest in you. I only sent her after you at the funeral because I know a gentleman such as yourself would not refuse a lady. Rather, Lord Amory, who I mentioned earlier. I doubt you have heard anything of him; I have not personally seen him in years. But we do exchange letters. He is another gifted mage, and true to his namesake."

_Amory... the elusive man without a bank vault. _Lorenz took another long drought of tea, stalling: trying to consider what he could say to elucidate more information about Amory, or any of the siblings. Adalius took it for apprehension.

"You would live a happy life; we do not worry about crests or offspring in our family. You might be surprised how unimportant something becomes when you have it in abundance. Are you not weary of the expectation? The burden? What if you produce no children with Crests, and your house falls? We are not so helpless. You would enjoy a standing dependent solely on your skill." _This man reads too deeply. His solutions are precise and fantasy. That last promise..._ His commentary about his standing depending solely on his own skill was not unlike Edelgard's own propaganda. _Tempting. Ideal. Not likely._

"That is rather convenient for your House" Lorenz dismissed his fantastical offering. "Nonetheless, I have difficulty believing that such interests are sincere or without their own dangers." Lorenz imagined less of a proper social contract such as Lord Adalius alluded to; he could only picture a Benettos as a crazed stalker; a molester or a cheat.

"Life is full of risks." The phrase seemed familiar, down to the threatening growl in his voice.

"My apologies, Lord Adalius, but I do not believe we could ever have such pleasant ties. I do find myself more curious: where would this Major Crest of Gloucester come from? Does it run in your family as well?" The only option he could fathom was sickening.

"Not at all; we all bear only Major Timotheos crests, without fail. There is always your father- he is certainly in everyone's way-"

"No. Not my father." Lalia squeezed Lorenz arm to comfort him.

"Ah, so a stranger might be fine. I hate to disappoint you... There is one other Major Crest of Gloucester to our knowledge, a young girl that has been traveling outside of Ordelia. You attended the Officers Academy with her."

"...I do not recall any acquaintance at the Academy bearing a Major Crest of Gloucester."

"Lysithea von Ordelia has many secrets."

"Lysithea?" He could hardly contain his disbelief. "She is missing."

"Missing to only to those not paying attention. We do not capture those we do not need, but we know where to find her. She is in Goneril."

"Unacceptable. It seems you have nothing to offer me; but what you have offered was foolish. You risk creating a more formidable foe of me, given a major crest and such influence. I could expose you." Lorenz countered.

"Ahaha, oh not at all. House Benettos is not so feeble that it concerns itself with the petty ire of the Lords it wields. We collect without fail, and we punish contract breakers severely." Lorenz thought the room could not become any colder, but the chill burrowed into his bones. He thought of Lord Morley, who was likely in their bad graces.

"There is plenty of time to reconsider my offer: we are a patient family. I would also like to extend an invitation: we welcome your return to the Chateau on any date." Lorenz stood, no doubt shades paler than he had entered the cold room.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Benettos." Lorenz would not deny Adalius' offer again to his face. 

"Your manners are exemplary even in the face of abject terror, but do not offer me false gratitude. This is a relationship of trust, and I want you to be honest: that you both fear and resent me." The man, the monster stood extending his hand. "To honesty."

Lorenz shook his hand without comment.

They were let out by the maid: Lorenz shaken and Lalia tense- only five minutes recovering before the Roundtable would begin down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm over 100,000 words!!!! This is longer than the first two Harry Potter books?! I should do something to celebrate? I might make In-Game style avatars for everyone: Early War Claude, Lorenz, and Hilda; Lalia, Alvina, Morven.


	36. Roundtable: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 02-27-2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent some time drawing [Lalia](https://victorbjiart.tumblr.com/post/188553433349/lalia-of-gloucester-maid-and-retainer-to-lorenz) and [Morven](https://victorbjiart.tumblr.com/post/188577199504/morven-butler-for-house-riegan-im-making) to celebrate 100k! I wanted to do more, but alas, I have to start building a portfolio for Momocon (and get back to writing).
> 
> I also adapted what I've written so far into a 5x7 pocketbook size: my word count is equivalent to a 537 pages! I did not MEAn to be THAT slow of a burn, but here we are.

Lorenz followed Lalia through the labyrinthine hallways to the primary lobby. It was near empty, likely everyone was already seated for the Roundtable's official start... though it was rarely on time. He was dismayed to find Claude standing straight, no crutch, no splint, waiting for him under one of the massive bronze facades. When Claude spotted him, he almost gave in to his house manners. He stopped short a wave and smile, to prevent the few people who did mill about the lobby from catching wind of their amiable ties.

Lorenz held his head a little higher, approaching Claude at an unhurried pace.

"Lord Riegan, I insisted you go on without me. I assure you, your petulant coddling has not gone unnoticed; it is an insult to my autonomy."

"I wasn't sure you could find your way."

"As though I have not been attending Roundtable's since I was fifteen. Odd; I never saw _you_ in attendance. Almost like you are not from-"

"-Come, _Lord Gloucester_, it's starting." 

"Of course." Lorenz leaned in. "That leg is going to be weak for the rest of your life. Your ego will be the death of you." Claude dropped his voice likewise; they were already drawing looks, and so he put on a false grimace.

"Yeah yeah, at least no one else will know I was attacked. Bad news though: Count Ordelia is here."

"... That is alarming. Surely he is here in his capacity as a pawn."

"Who knows; he looks awful. What about Lord Adalius?"

"Later- too much to discuss."

After their feigned bickering, Lorenz began to walk ahead of Claude, nose in the air, leaving him to catch up to his long stride. He took the stairs two at a time, then made a show of waiting for him to meet at the top. They entered the auditorium together.

The room was arranged like a shallow arena: the namesake Round Table in the middle, each of five Great Lords having seated behind them two tiers of Major Lords, and three tiers of Minor Lords from their respective counties, in a great spiral. The galleries sat higher still: the first row reserved for noble heirs, but all other rows were invitation to the public. It was designed so that the Great Lords could feel the other Nobles, Merchants, Commoners all bearing down on their decisions. The spiral made it so that no Lords could seat completely behind their superior: to remind them their interests should be for the Alliance, not for allegiance.

When they entered the Roundtable Auditorium, they were both dismayed. Despite the busyness of the city, the auditorium was nearly unoccupied. The dark catwalk that encircled the galleries from above would be filled with standing crowds during other events of prosperity or disaster: now they were cold and empty. Even some Minor Lords were absent; of course from Ordelia, but more notably from Goneril and Gloucester.

"No one is taking this seriously." Lorenz whispered. His eyes passed over his father from the darkened catwalk. _What can he possibly hope to gain in a sham meeting? I am sure Claude mentioned once in passing that the Duke rules more from his conference room than here. Is this going to be a mere stage-play?_

None of the Great Lords spoke with one another while waiting for the Duke; Edmund and Goneril busied themselves with reports; Ordelia stared into his lap, morose. Count Gloucester sat, heads and shoulders over the others, scanning the auditorium as though king surveying his subjects.

"We'll have to put in the legwork after they adjourn. People need to be in here to see what a farce it is- to put pressure on them to make real decisions." Claude offered, as though he could hear him thinking. "All of the unofficial supplementary meetings leading up to this have been nothing but small talk... I guess it's not really abnormal for people to miss the first day though. It's always public hearings."

"Where should I sit?" Lorenz wondered aloud. The Gloucester corner seemed inappropriate... perhaps even dangerous. There was no way to know who lurked in the shadows. Many hooded figures peppered the auditorium.

"In the Riegan corner, with me of course."

"...It may arouse suspicion of collusion. I suppose there is no other option-"

"I will be walking the upper hall if you need me." Lalia interrupted, having spotted some transaction of note across the room. "Pardon me."

"Of course." When she was out of earshot, Lorenz remembered their meeting with Adalius. "Claude, do you know if 'lizard' is any sort of derogatory?"

"Lizard? Not here. In Almyra it's something like only looking out for yourself: slithering on the ground and going where it's warmest."

"Ah. A reprimand against comfortable living."

"Yeah, but more... nasty. Did someone call you that?"

"No; a Benettos Maid said it to Lalia."

"... Weird." They made their way down the gentle curving Riegan Gallery, to their reserved seats in the front. Not that reservation mattered; their places were not threatened by any of the twelve people seated in the expansive pews.

"Hilda didn't even come." Claude noted; he was sure she would bring Freikugel, but he did not see it glowing in the dark anywhere across the room. "Really, Hilda..."

His voice trailed off.

"Is something the matter?" Lorenz asked.

"Look." Claude pointed to the Goneril Gallery. "Holst is here."

"... Holst never leaves Fodlan's Locket." Lorenz was stunned.

"This _is_ bad if Duke 'there is no war' Goneril brought his heir down from defending the border. They're nervous."

Duke Riegan emerged from a chamber hall below.

Everyone rose in due respect.

The first Roundtable was about to begin.

* * *

"Let us call to convention the Summer Roundtable of the Leicester Alliance, year 1183. Session number one-thousand, two-hundred and twenty four." The Duke took to his seat, followed by the other great Lords, then Major Lords after and so on. "We will proceed with public grievances, standard first days procedure."

"That's it?" Claude whispered. "He isn't going to put Count Gloucester and Count Ordelia to any... I don't know, inquiry?"

"Are you truly surprised? They always defer even the most serious national matters until the second day. It is symbolic: people first." Lorenz was just as concerned, but he would not become ill over the matter unless the second day passed without any development. "Though, there has been no protocol for this is the Alliance's 282 years of independence. It would only be proper to at minimum address the matter to refer back to it later..."

"Well this is gonna be boring." Claude planted his foot on the low wall that divided the galleries from the Lords. "Look at that line. That's a lot of public grievances." Lorenz shushed him.

"They might still give clues as to the state of broader Alliance affairs. The broken contracts and collapsing agreements are no doubt having a ripple effect. Sit up!" He thumped Claude on the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"These are your people! You talk so grandly about the Alliance and the World, but you are lacking in compassion for individuals."

"I am not! I'm just... tired. Damn."

"Stop groveling, it was not even forceful."

"You hurt my ego."

"Then my aim is impeccable."

They both listened to the parade of small claims: not as insightful as Lorenz had hoped, small matters that were mostly wrapped up neatly in pride and principal with few real consequences. After a period of time, he regretted his lofty words and resigned himself to boredom. The Duke navigated the matters not without compassion, but exasperated.

"Sheep. Title to two hundred square feet of land. More sheep. Claim to an... heirloom Wyvern skull." Claude bemoaned the petty matters. Lorenz straightened in surprise at his commentary, having slumped over in fatigue. Two hours had passed. "Why are the leaders of the country hearing about _few missing sheep_? This is the first thing I'll change when I'm Duke. Tell me Lorenz, is there some pattern I'm not seeing that makes all of this less..."

"No, nothing would make this less mundane. But a herd of a thousand sheep is not a 'few.' It constitutes major property loss which cannot be fully addressed by a local Lord and will affect the broader economy..." Lorenz explained, yawning at the drab subject. "...Just commoner business." ..._I need something to keep me occupied. Just until the recess.The gallery is dark and empty enough._

Lorenz let his hand run broad circles on Claude's knee.

Claude started, looking down at the unexpected contact to make sure it wasn't his imagination. He then looked back into the Gallery behind them: the dark and the angle would conceal very little, only what was directly in front of them. The low wall in front of them would hide everything below the waist. He took a deep breath, squeezing Lorenz's hand to stop. 

Instead of taking the hint, Lorenz pulled Claude's hand along with him, up his thigh, inward slightly: enough to tease. Lorenz remained stoic, looking over the proceedings with the same air of boredom, only now red across the neck and ears. 

Claude did not have such self control. He pulled Lorenz's hand away to avoid making a fool of himself- just in time to hear someone thumping loudly down the stairs behind them. 

Freikugel haloed Hilda in the low light. She hurried down the pew to sit next to Lorenz, out of breath and pale. The Minor Lords on the last row looked up to see the commotion: no doubt startled from their own daydreams.

"...Hilda? Are you well?" Lorenz whispered. She took his hand and squeezed it.

"... _huff huff_. Yep. Better than well. Just. _Huff_. Wait."

"Hilda, what's going on?" Claude leaned around Lorenz.

"Shh! You'll see!" She continued to pant, leaning back into the pew after removing Freikugel. 

_Did she run here? Why here and not the Goneril Gallery?_ Lorenz looked down: Hilda continued to hold his hand. He lost all interest in Claude or whatever Hilda would have them wait on. Another half hour passed. 

"If there are no other grievances, we will conclude the public hearing portion of the Roundtable. A brief recess will-"

One of the myriad hooded figures who had taken up in the galleries approached the council.

Hilda leaned forward, gesturing for Lorenz and Claude to watch.

The petite figure lowered her hood. 

Lysithea had come to Derdriu.

* * *

"Duke Riegan, Council Lords: I demand my father's seat. As a vassal of the Empire, he has no authority ruling in Alliance matters. I am the only heir of House Ordelia, and it is my right." She did not look at her father, who himself looked on with some degree of shame. She did take a moment to look pointedly at Lorenz in the gallery, as if insinuating 'this is what you should have done weeks ago.'

"Miss Lysithea-" Count Gloucester tried to wrest away the authority her voice demanded- to no avail.

"You will address me as Lady Lysithia von Ordelia. Do not condescend to me because I am not of council age."

"Lady Lysithea" Duke Riegan began "You cannot sit on the Roundtable- you are still a minor by council policy, by your own admission: you must be twenty to sit at the table. As it stands, we were planning to announce the reelection of the seat due to the long term instability of House Ordelia. You will not come of age before that happens." He offered his input neutrally.

"Nonsense! I would have gladly accepted that solution if it was not happening right after the Empire invaded and conquered our territory- I never _wanted_ to sit on the Roundtable. House Ordelia has been in decline for years, but you're only discussing it now because you think you can use the war as a distraction. You're not very clever, any of you. I _will_ have this seat even if it is to have my vote on the House that replaces us." Her unflinching mention of war and invasion sent a riffle of discomfort throughout the auditorium.

"You cannot take the seat." Imposed Count Gloucester, as though his word marked the finality of the subject.

"I can and I will because underage Lords and Ladies already have-" Count Gloucester cut her off:

"Duke Riegan, this is nonstandard, would you please-" The Duke raised his hand to stop the Count.

"She has a right to plead her case; please, let us get on without interruption." He motioned back to Lysithea to continue.

"You know there is already precedent, Duke Riegan." She addressed him with a renewed calm at his respectful tone. "During illness or infirmity, underage Lords and Ladies have been permitted to serve in the interests of their parents. There is no reason why my father becoming an Empire Vassal should not be counted as an inability to serve. The seat would pass to me. The youngest person to sit on the Roundtable was fifteen." She turned her ire and her knowledge back on Count Gloucester "_You're_ just trying to eliminate ten votes you know will be against you- and by allowing my challenge to stand, it threatens your own seat and makes appointing Lorenz the next logical course of action." She thrust her arm in the Count's direction, pointing in accusation: that he too was a vassal of the Empire.

"Duke, this drivel cannot stand!" He rose from his seat enraged, towering over the table.

"Sit down, Count Gloucester! Your passions are most _nonstandard_; at least Lady Lysithea has youth on her side to account for her behavior!" The Duke could not rightfully deny her; everything she said would stand inspection if they made the effort to check her claims. It would merely waste everyone's time.

Hilda, Claude, and Lorenz watched with eyes wide from the gallery, whispering between one another:

"Oh. My. GODDESS. Did she just argue for your seat Lorenz?" Hilda's hands were covering her mouth.

"I believe she might have..." Lorenz mumbled in awe.

"She doesn't pull any punches- she went straight for Count Gloucester's throat!" Claude swelled with pride. "That's a Golden Deer for-"

"Shh!" Hilda urged.

The Duke cleared his throat.

"I am aware of the precedents you speak of. They have not yet been used in such a manner, to seize a seat by force during a... period of unrest. But there is a first for everything."

Lorenz began to sweat at the possibility that he may take to the Roundtable in only a few minutes. Hilda squeezed his hand in anticipation; Claude likewise put his hand on his knee and dug in. Lorenz was not mentally prepared. He applauded Lysithea's temerity but dreaded it's result.

"What are you saying Duke Riegan?" Count Gloucester asked, anger barely concealed in his voice. The Duke raised his hand once more, then sat quietly, stroking his beard. The room hummed with whispering. The Great Lords sat stoically, while the Major and Minor Lords all counseled one another fearfully: if a Great Lord's seat could be taken so easily, any could.

"I will offer this temporary provision, to be reviewed on any future date in which it is invoked: any such legitimate heir wishing to seize the seat of an absentee parent- whether missing in action, deceased, turn cloak, or otherwise unavailable- may do so..." The whispers reached a crescendo, anger painting the tone of the lull. The Duke composed himself for a moment, then bellowed "Silence!" His voice carried through the gallery with force. The Lords quieted just enough for him to continue.

"... This provision applies only in the event that the House is in decline, and a vote is to be taken on their position within the Roundtable or a lower seat. Upon a vote to sustain the House, the heir will take the representative seat. On a vote to demote the House, the Heir will take the representative seat in the next lowest echelon- in this case, Lady Lysithea would become a Major Lord representing House Ordelia." The murmurs did not cease, but they were appeased for now.

"The issue remains: how do we categorize a Lord who sits before us, clearly present?" Margrave Edmund asked. "I would suggest by Lady Lysithea's standards, the only option that remains is turncloak. But it has been observed that Ordelia County was overthrown, not surrendered- and yet Lord Ordelia is clearly not a prisoner. This presents a conundrum-"

"It has been _suggested_ that the County was overthrown!" Duke Goneril interjected "I'll remind everyone here where House Goneril stands: I believe it was sold to the Empire!"

The Lords reached a fever pitch. Shouts broke out across the lower seats: both in support of his statements and in denial, sharp and cruel insults of Lord Goneril's intelligence bounded off of the walls. Hilda groaned. 

Duke Riegan stood, projecting his voice over the table.

"That is not the issue we are addressing!"

"No- it is." The haunted Count Ordelia stood likewise, finally speaking to his own fate when everyone calmed down. The Lords silenced themselves further, straining to hear him. The very air in the room leaning forward in anticipation of his next words. "I am a traitor to the Leicester Alliance. I fought mock skirmishes with the Empire before relinquishing the land to them freely. I wholly support Emperor Edelgard's goals and views."

"He confessed." Goneril shook his head. "The Goddess will have no mercy on your bastard soul."

Lysithea shook. The corners of her mouth were down turned: she might want to cry, but there was nothing but seething hatred in her eyes. She sniffed, and said nothing.

Lorenz felt her misery distinctly, being in a not-so-dissimilar position. _She knows this is how the scene must play out. She knows and she waits. Oh Lysithea, you poor tragic girl. _

The Duke considered Ordelia's words while the Lord's waited in horrified silence. There was still no admission to war, but now it had been stated aloud that part of the Alliance was contractually part of the Empire. An entire county was gone. The Duke came to a decision.

"Due to the admission of illegally _attempting _to sell Leicester Alliance Land to a foreign power, Count Ordelia you will now be taken into custody in the name of the law for committing fraudulent dealings which threaten the sovereignty of our nation."

Hilda whispered between Lorenz and Claude: "That's such a strangely specific way to word it...why not call him a war criminal?"

"This way, it seems like the Alliance is still neutral; additionally, making Count Ordelia's sentence vague gives them leeway to reinterpret it." Lorenz offered. Claude only clenched his jaw, coiled and tense as though ready to seize the Roundtable himself.

Two guards came to escort Ordelia away.

"This isn't right." Claude tried to rise, spring from his seat, but Lorenz and Hilda both managed to keep him back.

"Lady Lysithia, please take your place." Edmund offered quietly after Ordelia was lead away. She left the podium that was too tall for her, to sit down in her father's chair: too big. She turned to Duke Riegan seriously, waiting for the next business item to be announced.

"As the only council issue that remained after public grievances was that of the reelection of the seat for House Ordelia, we will adjourn for the day instead of returning after a recess. We will reconvene tomorrow to address domestic affairs. Anyone wishing to make a bid for the seat of House Ordelia may do so Wednesday; our tentative selection is House Everlionne. The vote will be taken on Friday. Day one is adjourned."

Claude left his seat without speaking, finding the back entrance to the Duke's waiting room beneath the Galleries.

* * *

Claude entered the back door of the Duke's waiting room, furious, and lay into him: disregarding the White Mages that attended him.

"WHY didn't you throw out Count Gloucester on the same pretense?! When will you stop tolerating him? He is openly working with the Empire!" Claude shouted at him.

"I should not have to explain such a simple-" The Duke waved away the mages before Claude interrupted him.

"Explain?! Explain what- you're a coward-!" The Duke stood in the face of this accusation, looming over Claude.

"If I was a coward boy I would have lost the seat long ago!" The Duke roared. Claude did not back down, but he lost a little color in his face. He raised a sharp finger to point in Claude's face. "Do you think this is the first conflict I have steered?! If you can reign in your spitfire arrogance, you might learn something about keeping a steady hand when you would prefer to throw punches!"

"Fine!" He did not sit down.

"Do you believe I want these Empire traitors at my table? No! Lady Lysithea offered a very punctuated argument for her father's seat under their very specific circumstances. Those details are important- she was clever enough to recognize that. She seized on the assumption that her House would be replaced to leverage her argument: and though she made various other points, the argument did pivot on that point alone."

Claude simply nodded, and the Duke continued.

"She was clever about it. She gave me the key piece I needed to acquiesce to her demands while distracting the others with the threat that it was so easy to replace them. I was able to relent one of her points while rejecting the others- and so the Lords, all of them, not just the other three Greats, were able to remain secure in their seats, assured I stood for their best interests."

"...Most of the argument a was a front?"

"And a damned good one! I will never forget the look on Count Gloucester's face when she suggested he would be deposed. Haha! Cause a major uproar when you want to make a moderate request seem like a minor victory by its resolution. You should know all of this."

"I do know this stuff... I got carried away in her argument too. I guess." Claude finally sat down, turning his thumbs in his hands.

"Do not feel embarrassed- there will always be sharper minds out there than yours: it's fortunate for you that Lysithea does not seek the title of Duchess. But you _must_ put your passions in check. I had hoped the Gloucester boy, once you decided to keep working so closely with him despite my reprimand, might counsel you on your behavior. If Gloucester's are good for anything..."

"He's tried. Kinda."

"Then perhaps it's time you listened. I still do not like the mess you've made for yourself... so much like your mother. Headstrong, but reckless: what's right is right and no other option will suffice, even if you might be wrong."

"... Exactly. It _still_ isn't right. What will happen to Count Ordelia? Treason is punishable by death."

"Lord Ordelia saw an opportunity for safety in captivity. Coming out in support of the Empire will also ensure his wife's safety in Ordelia County. I am in no hurry to arrange his death sentence... perhaps he has some valuable information we could elucidate... but torture is _illegal..._ we will just have to wait him out." The Duke smiled wisely.

Claude could only berate himself for not putting it together on his own. His personal involvement with Lysithea and Lorenz clouded his judgement: of course he still sided with them, but his bias did not even allow him to see the strategy behind the game.

"Come one, boy- I thought you were prepared for this? You must realize: if I had taken _any other_ action, the Lords would have divided immediately; and if the Lords divide so does the nation. Your actions as Duke can have a shockwave effect: you might create fissures that will never rebound with a few poorly worded statements. When it seems most important to begin forcing everyone's hand and doling out punishments to achieve your noble and ethical goals as quickly as possible is when you must remain even and fair to the present standards- standards which were written on a lopsided table leaning in favor of the crested and the wealthy. Otherwise, they throw tantrums, and take all their wealth and land with them, and too often countless lives of their countrymen." Claude was heartened to hear his grandfather casually refer to him as Duke in the future tense. But it also made him uneasy.

"...you make it sound like I'm going to be Duke anytime soon." Claude finally considered the White Mages from earlier. They now flanked the Duke; both looking nervous.

"... I am not well, boy." The Duke said at last, sitting: the fury he had mustered both at the Roundtable and here had drained him. "If you have any business _out of the country_, it should be handled promptly."


	37. Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

"Duke Riegan, Margrave Edmund is here for your meeting." Morven entered the Duke's waiting room. Claude still recoiled at the sound of his voice. Despite having Lorenz's full attention, and sharing with him a newfound disdain for the Butler, Morven's lack of remorse and senior standing was an affront on it's own. 

"Lord Claude." Morven acknowledged him flatly, but not without a faint condescension in his eyes.

"Claude, you may go." The Duke dismissed him, well aware of his malcontent. Claude returned his attention to the Duke.

"Why? Don't you think it's time I started sitting in on these secret meetings? Edmund and I should be on good terms."

"You have proven you are still too hot headed, a trait which Edmund pities. Go on, I will not let you humiliate yourself today." Edmund seemed to be trustworthy enough by Hilda's appraisal and Marianne's association... but he was still concerned about Morven's presence.

"...And Morven is going to be your guard?"

"Yes, he has been an excellent guard: saved my life once or twice. I heard about your little stunt trying to dismiss him: keep your personal quarrels out of my staffing arrangements." Claude was embarrassed, and wanted to belay the notion that it had anything to do with personal business. He leaned in to whisper while Morven waited at the door.

"He's working illusions with someone else in the Estate. Just be careful... Grandpa." The Duke chuckled.

"Thank you for your concern. Do not make Edmund wait any longer."

"...Fine." Claude stood. "We should find time to eat together at the Hall while we're in Derdriu."

"I would enjoy that." The Duke agreed. Claude nodded, making for the door, pointedly ignoring the smug and collected Morven, who's eyes followed him without reservation.

"You are free to ignore me, Lord Claude, but you should be aware it gives me far more satisfaction than any civil return to courtesy." Morven said softly after him. Claude stopped in the doorway, trying to recall the Duke's only too recent wisdom about keeping an even hand when he wanted to throw punches.

"Keep your satisfaction. I got what I wanted." He muttered back, low so the Duke might not hear him.

"... But how will you keep him?"

Claude left before Morven's own sharp reply would cut loose his temper.

"Morven. Another word out of you on the matter in my earshot and you will be dismissed." The Duke reprimanded him.

"My apologies, Duke. It was base of me. I am merely reveling in youthful audacity."

"Revel in your own time. Bring Edmund in."

"Yes, Duke Riegan. After Margrave Edmund, you must return to the hall. Please remember that the magic is a relief, not a cure. You are unwell although it cannot be seen or felt for the moment: you must rest."

"Very well. Have Cassiopeia turn away anyone else who comes."

* * *

Lorenz and Hilda waited in the lobby after the Roundtable; at a distance, Lalia monitored the Lords Hall, which exited the auditorium from the Rountable floor. They waited for Lysithea to emerge, eager to meet with her... but neither of them wanted to face their fathers just yet; Lorenz least of all. _Claude told me not to visit father. I was tempted... but seeing his behavior today, I do not even wish to look at him._ Hilda confided that she, too, was ashamed of her father's remarks; that the Lord's insults against her family still rang in her ears. For this reason, Lalia would deliver their invitation to Lysithea.

Lorenz was preoccupying himself with a dying miniature topiary, avoiding the excellent view his height advantage gave him down the front of Hilda's dress, when he heard her take in a sharp breath.

"Lorenz- she's talking with your father!" Hilda pulled on his arm. "He looks angry!" They couldn't hear him from this distance- but Lalia was backing away casually.

"Goddess." Lorenz straightened up, monitoring her stance. "I dread the need to come between them."

The Count began shouting.

"Take this woman into custody!" He ordered his retinue of guards. He turned to the gathering crowd, offering explanation. "She is responsible for the murder of over a quarter of my Estate guard!"

Lorenz was taken aback. He recalled the myriad 'drunken' guards- Empire Guards- they had passed on their departure.

"What?!" Hilda whispered beside Lorenz. They wound their way through the lobby to hear Lalia's defense, as even more people gathered around the commotion.

"I killed several Empire soldiers in trespass. Are you suggesting they were present on your invitation- or on your hire?" Lalia questioned the Count.

"Lies! You murdered the Gloucester men that guarded our estate- by poison! They were doing no harm to you."

"It is a maid's job to neutralize foreign threats to her household, however benign. Their armor was red."

"Nonsense! Do explain how my own guard was endangering my household?!"

"House arrest is not a function of a personal guard. What emblem was on their armor, Count Gloucester? Surely you still have bodies to prove your claims. A quarter of your men? I doubt so many people could be interred so quickly."

Hilda took Lorenz's arm, worried not for the maid unfamiliar to her, but for Lorenz's association.

"Lorenz, how many people did she kill?"

".... I do not know. We passed twenty just along the back entrance..." He was horrified. "I should go to her-"

"No, wait." Hilda squeezed his arm. "I think she has him cornered. Let's keep watching." She suggested. Count Gloucester renewed his argument against Lalia; who herself deftly avoided bringing Lorenz's name into her defense.

"After the initial battles, I reached a ceasefire with the General. They found trade to be more beneficial than destroying the fields we tend in needless fighting. This is all public knowledge! Murdering the Empire soldiers- who were _welcomed_ to the estate in an effort to strengthen foreign relations- nearly caused the general to resume his onslaught! You endangered countless lives with your bizarre fantasies of war! There Empire's war is with the Kingdom! The attack on Gloucester was an oversight!"

"You said only moments ago they were Gloucester guards. That untruth aside, reaching a ceasefire for your own House and County does not excuse your designs against the Leicester Alliance." Lalia started in her own accusations. "Profiteering in war with plans to use foreign forces to depose the ruling House-"

Claude emerged from the Lord's Hall at the worst moment, interrupting what would no doubt have been a debate so well delivered as to undermine the Count and begin his numbered days on the Roundtable. He said nothing to stop their exchange, but his presence alone drew everyone's attention.

"Is there a problem?" He answered the stares.

A disgusting smile drawled across Count Gloucester's face.

"I am merely seeking out justice, Lord Claude." He wrapped his arm around Claude as if familiar, drawing an unguarded scowl from him; he recoiled and removed the his arm by force. The Count was insulted, rage crossing his expression momentarily: but he continued pandering. "This woman has murdered a great many people. I am well aware your have been graciously hosting my son- for that, I would kindly dispense with her personally to save you the trouble. Such a dangerous retainer should not blemish House Riegan- you may even become her next target. I will take the matter to the Duke personally, of course. But I am sure you understand yourself why she must be taken into our custody immediately." The Count reserved little more respect for Claude than he did for Lysithea; at least he had some sense to seek out the perceived 'permission' for his actions from the future Duke than to condescend to him directly. The Lords and commonfolk gathered around watched with breath held- Lorenz and Hilda among them.

"This isn't Gloucester county. You can post your accusation with the Roundtable." He said terminally, dismissing the Count by jurisdiction.

The Duke sputtered for several moments.

"File my- Lord Claude, you may find yourself unaware in your ignorance, but I am a _Great Lord:_ my grievances need not be filed with the table at which I sit!"

"There are three other Lords- and one Lady- at that table: you aren't the entire council." Claude jerked his head to beckon Lalia follow him down a nearby hall. The insult rippled through the crowd, whispers rising as Claude turned his back on Count Gloucester to go about his business. 

The 'Gloucester' guards (_Or Empire guards soiling Gloucester armor_, Lorenz presumed) shuffled as if to seize Lalia regardless of her association with Claude; but the Count waved them off. His face darkened considerably, as he swept down the Lord's Hall to seek the Duke with his grievances.

Lalia's eyes widened; she turned to follow Claude when she was not seized, after shooting Lorenz a distressed look.

The blunder made Lorenz's teeth hurt. He resisted the urge to cover his eyes. _Claude! Empire or not- You cannot just- that is a Great Lord- Goddess- Heavens-_ Claude had seen him in the crowd, but turned down a basement hall so they could meet elsewhere without the attention.

"Oh jeez. Lorenz, go to Claude. I'll find Lysithea." Even Hilda had paled at his behavior; his open hostility would be talk well into his own tenure as Duke and turn even more people against him.

_Though it might engender Lord Goneril's good faith. _Lorenz considered.

"Yes, meet with us at Riegan Hall this evening. We should return nearing six."He told Hilda. In his distress, he kissed her hand reflexively before making his way toward the nearest hall entry._ Heavens, after all that intricate dance Lysithea and the Duke did to make the Lords feel well represented and unthreatened- he just- he insults the second most powerful man in the Leicester Alliance. Saints-_

Lorenz hurried down another hall whose turns should bring him to the hallway Claude and Lalia had taken. He heard them before he saw them, Lalia's familiar reprimand carried through the empty halls, followed closely by Claude's excuses. Lorenz stumbled into them at last.

"Claude! You! You cannot talk to people like that- least of all my father-" He moved into Claude's face, seizing his shoulders.

"I don't have time for him- and we can't lend any credibility to his accusations. There are people waiting on us-"

"Credibility?! You are not a singular council any more than he! You have only exacerbated the situation. Lalia may have talked her way out of immediate incarceration, but _you_-" Lorenz inhaled deeply. "You have made her look all the more guilty, and you have raised suspicions about our ties! People will take it as an example of nepotism- you cannot merely disregard accusations of criminality you absolute fool!" Lorenz was out of breath after his chastising, now exhausted with concern.

"I couldn't do anything about it then and there! What, was I supposed to call the Lords and hold a trial in the middle of the lobby? I told him what to do: post his claim ... Damn. Look. Maybe I could have handled it better." _And the Duke just finished lecturing me. I just can't stand to look at the Count._ "I didn't want to leave Lalia alone in the lobby after that. We'll talk about this later- I'll fix it. Right now Lysithea is waiting for us."

"Lysithea? When was this arranged?"

"Shamir turned up in the Lord's hall, just now. Told me where to find them."

"Shamir? Why is she in Derdriu with Lysithea?" Lorenz asked. He noted Claude's step hitched for a moment on his previously injured leg.

"I am sure they will offer an explanation." They came to a door; Lalia knocked. Not trusting of random women in a city of assassins, she directed Claude and Lorenz to stand out of view while she waited.

The door creaked open slowly.

"Can I help you, maid?" It was a relief to Lorenz to hear it actually was Shamir: her characteristic serious voice.

"I have brought Lords Claude and Lorenz to meet with Lady Lysithea."

"Have them step into view."

"Show me both of your hands, first." 

Shamir was still for a moment. Behind the door, she sheathed something- likely a broad daggar- and opened the door more fully to reveal both hands. Lalia motioned Claude and Lorenz to approach.

"And Lady Lysithea?"

"She's here. Hilda hasn't come yet. Cyril is looking for her."

A hearty voice issued from the room; Lorenz's stomach dropped.

"C'mon Shamir, stop being paranoid and bring them in! I want to see what the perverts have been up to!"

_Catherine. Of course she would be with Shamir. A shame her only opinion of us stems from the night she found us in the gazebo._ He drew himself up, putting on his comfortable arrogance. Claude, naturally, was unbothered. After Lalia entered the room, he rounded the door frame first, all smiles. _He would be pleased hearing it stated so candidly. Exhibitionist._ Lorenz followed, trying to make his unease less obvious.

"Catherine, _what_ are you talking about?" Lysithea picked up on the accusation.

"Well, when they were at Garreg Mach, I found these two idiots-"

"Never mind Lysithea, you're too young." Shamir stopped Catherine with a look.

"I am _not_-"

"We have guests." Shamir put a stop to their gossip.

Claude shortened the room with eager strides: excited to see Lysithea alive and well. He was at a loss for words momentarily.

"You were amazing." He managed at last through his smile.

"It's nice to see you too Claude. Thanks for sending all those people after me, it only made it ten times harder to avoid being found." She scowled at him.

"Right. Sorry. I'm glad you're safe."

"... Well, I guess it was nice to know _someone_ was worried about me." She relented, before turning her ire on Lorenz. "And _you_. Your father is still on the Roundtable? Pathetic! What have you been _doing_ this whole time?"

"I have been fighting and recuperating; and my father is not so noble as your own to resign gracefully... How I missed your careful criticisms."

"Criticism? I'm insulting you!"

"I was being polite. How have you fared on the run, Lady Lysithea?" It was a relief to see she had maintained her attitude; he was happy to be insulted if it meant her spirit was still intact. But her eyes were red, and Catherine's tunic was wet around the shoulder.

"I got by. Really good, until Cyril noticed me sneaking around in a market and blurted my name out like a big idiot. He yelled it, several times. My full name. In the middle of the city." As if beckoned, the door opened as Cyril guided Hilda into the room.

"L Y S I T H E Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!" Hilda screamed, running over to hug her. "You were so amazing! OH! I'm so sorry about your parents come _here_!" She squeezed Lysithea to her chest, squishing her face into her dress.

"Hilda."

"Oh Lysithea- I'm so proud of you- just imagine- if we could all sit on the Roundtable, this war would be OVER. You did so good!"

"Thanks, I guess." Lysithea felt she was being condescended to, but knew now that with Hilda it was genuine. Her voice was just grating. "Did you see Marianne, Cyril?"

"Yep, but she was with Margrave Edmund. They were talking to a bunch of other Lords, so I didn't bother her."

"I'll catch her up later. We're close. Like _really_ close." Hilda twirled her hair after releasing Lysithea from her hug. "Why the meeting, though?"

Lysithea blinked a few times. Her lip quivered for a just a moment, before she became serious enough to control it.

"I wanted to let you all know: I'm casting my vote- and then I'm leaving Derdriu."

"What- why? What if House Ordelia is sustained?" Claude asked, astonished.

"There's no chance of _that_. If I become a Major Lord, I'll find someone to serve as a proxy. I can't waste my time here."

"Do you truly believe that sitting on the council is a waste of time?" Lorenz was more than a little incensed.

"I have my reasons- it's a waste of time for me to be a voiceless Major Lord. Two votes is nothing. I'm not willing to play politics with all these delusional adult-" She stopped, correcting herself "-all these delusional Lords."

"Honestly, why did you come at all?" Hilda asked. "You should have gone to Goneril- my mother is there. You would be super safe at home. _I_ certainly wouldn't have come to Derdriu in your position." Hilda lied.

"Well, when Cyril found me, he dragged me back to Shamir and Catherine. And they told me about my father travelling to Derdriu. So I devised a plan: I reveal myself here, then my whereabouts would no longer be a mystery, and I can stop running and being hunted; there won't be anymore damage I can do to the Empire after I vote and make my indifference known. I won't be a valuable target after this is over. I'm taking my pawn off the war table."

"Did you not consider retribution: that your enemies may still wish to make an example of you?" Lorenz suggested.

"If they want to waste resources, they can try. I'll just go back into hiding."

"... Does that mean we can't count on you." Claude asked bluntly.

"... You can count on me when I can fight. But I'm not doing this stupid arguing in a dusty old hall with old Lords. I'm voting and that's it- and since I don't know anything about all the Lords, I need you to help me choose when they come forward. I don't have a head for politics." Everyone else in the room looked at one another knowingly: she had the perfect head for politics, she was merely stating politely that she didn't care.

"You are giving us your Rountable votes." Lorenz clarified. "That is superb. What are your plans for the Ordelia Major and Minor Lords?"

"I'm going to hear them out, but ultimately the vote is mine. I'm not playing a long game to win favor, and I'm not sticking around for them to retaliate. Another reason to leave, and not soon enough." Lysithea released a long breath. "Apparently there was already an emergency meeting for Ordelia planned for the five Lords who did bother to show up. I should go." She rose very gracefully, standing as tall as she could.

Claude reached out to shake her hand. She smiled at him weakly and drew away to leave.

"Wait. Where are you staying?" Claude asked.

"We are staying at the Stone Wyvern Inn." Shamir answered.

"...I don't mean this to be rude, but you can't have money to spare renting two rooms at an inn-"

"One room." Cyril corrected.

"I see. Come stay at the Riegan apartments- they're next to the Hall, and built to host a lot of guests."

"Really?!" Catherine shouted. She leaped from her chair, up to Claude, shaking his hand to accept. "Thank the Goddess- I've spent enough nights on the ground, now they got me sleeping in the floor. You aren't too bad, Claude."

"...Thanks Catherine." He pulled her in. "How about as payment, you stop bringing_ that_ up?"

"Hah! A small price to pay for a bed!" Catherine had no discreet tone of voice.

"What? It costs money?" Cyril asked, confused. "How much does it cost? I can work it off."

"That's not what I meant Cyril. It's free." Claude explained dryly.

"Oh, okay, but I won't feel right staying there without helping out."

They each exchanged several goodbyes before finally departing.

Claude and Lorenz were left to themselves in the meeting room to discuss the Benettos, while Lalia kept watch outside with Claude's twin guard.


	38. Ten Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

The room became considerably colder in mood as the reunion dissipated, despite the warm color walls and heavy furniture. After only a moments time, Lorenz began, ready to reveal Adalius' motives. He was eager to be done with it and return from the City Hall basements to the surface of Derdriu proper. Where they could then discuss Lysithea's options on his way to meet with Jericho. Then they could return to the apartments and argue about Claude's social sleight toward the Count. It promised to be a long, tense day and an even more strenuous week.

"Lord Adalius-"

"Wait. Stop. I can't handle any more intrigue just yet." Claude locked the door, and found his way to a chair next to Lorenz. "Just. Give me ten minutes."

Claude leaned back and closed his eyes. Lorenz rested against the arm of his chair, watching him, when his face briefly twitched in a spasm of pain. He had almost forgotten the hitch in Claude's walk earlier.

"Your leg is still hurting you."

"Not as bad as it was."

"Fool." Lorenz sneered. "You rushed it. And for what? What does it matter if someone knows you have been attacked?"

"It matters that they know I'm limping- assassins will take the initiative."

"Paranoid." Lorenz left his chair, reluctantly, to kneel in front of Claude. After a sigh of irritation, he began rolling Claude's pants leg up carefully, scoffing at the set of knives strapped around his ankle. Claude straightened in his chair at the touch. "Have you ever considered not everyone is making an attempt on your life? Truly, how many times has someone attempted to kill you? Off of the battlefield, of course."

"...In Fodlan or...?"

"You cannot be serious." Lorenz began pressing along his shin, searching for any swelling.

"You've really lead the privileged life Lorenz-ack! Careful!"

"There it is. Apologies." He inhaled deeply an began to concentrate, his right hand glowing where it was placed over Claude's shin. "Continue."

"...Since I debuted, there have been six attempts that I know of: including yesterday." _Many or most of them probably coming from the noble House Gloucester,_ Claude declined to add.

"... I suppose it _was_ only yesterday. It feels like a week has passed. I am sorry, I was being insensitive." Claude's leg grew warm, relieving the shooting pain that had renewed in his travel from Riegan Hall. As his concentration deepened, Lorenz's crest glowed over his heart: the source of faith magic. He seemed to be struggling.

"...I thought you couldn't heal broken legs?"

"Well... it is no longer broken, or fractured. Merely weak. Healed, but poorly, due to low affinity. Perhaps I can close the gap considering our... friendship. Even with my poor ability, it should at least stop the inflammation." Lorenz took another deep breath, the magic stemming and drawing away slowly. The glow from his crest made his eyes bright in the dull room, lighting his hair like a halo.

Claude ran a finger under his jaw; Lorenz did not look up, but tilted his head invitingly while he concentrated on stoppering his magic. Claude seized on his concentration to run his hand under and behind his ear, fingertips grazing his hair, before bringing his attention back to Lorenz's lips. He let his thumb slide over them. When they parted at his touch, he dipped his thumb in along his lower lip.

Lorenz's eyebrows furrowed.

"We ahre in puh-blic." He said around his thumb.

"We're in a locked room in a basement with no windows." He withdrew his hand. "And You're the one who put your hands on me during the Roundtable. Breaking your own rules already?" Claude leaned down, finding Lorenz's other hand, to pull it up onto his knee. "We've got time. Finish what you started."

"I heal your leg, and you ask me to work at you more?" Lorenz quipped: but his hands began a slow massage. "There is no time for this."

"You have an hour to get to the Anderton's; we have the rest of the day to talk about this _mess_." Claude stood up, testing his leg. Lorenz did not move away, putting him at an awkward level with Claude's hips, few inches separating them. He kept his hands on Claude's legs. "I'll repay your hard work on my leg." _Hm. His crest isn't going away.... bet he's feeling something besides faith._

Lorenz stood abruptly, his close proximity bringing him up only inches from Claude's face.

"I am not precisely declining- however-" Claude walked him against the table. "This is a _meeting_ room- a place of _business_-"

"You say that like you didn't come onto me in a dining hall- and a 'dusty room full of old Lords' as Lysithea put it." He pushed Lorenz onto the table to sit, low enough they were face to face, untying the plain jabot around his neck.

"-We may be alone, but we have much to discuss- that is why we are here-" He continued to protest, but he wasn't pushing back. Claude waited for him to shove off, disgusted, sure that the past day was a fever dream... but his complaints were reflexive: neither his voice or his body were in it. _"Not precisely declining" sounds like a tentative yes to me._

"If you get to break our agreement, I do too. Just a little. It's only fair."

"I cannot disagree with you in good conscience-" The top buttons on his shirt came apart easily between Claude's fingers. "-But Lalia is outside. With the twin knights."

"So be quiet." Lorenz made a sound in his throat that insinuated he was already struggling to do so; he stopped talking, having run out of reasons they shouldn't, giving in to the relief gratefully. Claude tucked his face against his neck, starting slow at first, then kissing and nipping at him desperately while his arms wrapped around his broad back.

The stresses that made knots of Lorenz's muscles ebbed away; he could imagine Claude passed his own healing magic on to his neck through each roll of his tongue. There were no Lords or Counts or enemies; the meeting room encompassed the whole of the world, and it was made up of lips and teeth and hands.

Claude pulled away; Lorenz locked his hands behind his neck so he could not go far.

"Aha. Calm down, I'm not done." He ran his hand over Lorenz's chest, where his crest still glowed. "Why isn't this going away?"

"I can make it stop-"

"No, no. It's gorgeous." Claude passed his hand through it, caressing across the shirt buttons down his stomach, to loop his thumb in the waist of Lorenz's pants. With a hard pull the waistband came open, buttons and loops working themselves loose eagerly.

"That may be too much, for now-" Lorenz renewed his complaints: standing up from the table, he slid against Claude in an attempt to flee. Still, Lorenz did not push or reject him, only cast begging looks... easily misinterpreted. He could not possibly be begging for relinquish, the way he pressed his hips forward and held tight to Claude's shirt.

Claude pushed his hand into his pants roughly, to the glorious sound of Lorenz's pitiful attempt suppress his pleasure.

"Ohhn,,, hnn...yes..."

Claude only intended to tease him, returning the cruel caress Lorenz had left him with the night before... But after getting a handful of him, finally- after feeling the hard heat under his fingers, his prior intentions left him, only impulse remained. Lorenz let his hands drape again behind Claude's neck, now pulling on his shirt back and through his hair. Irresistible.

Claude took one of his wrists, turning him to brace his back against his own chest, leaning Lorenz hands out onto the table. When Claude's hands moved from groping to even, intentional strokes, Lorenz's fingertips pulled and streaked against the glossy tabletop.

"....aahn..."

"Shhhh..." Claude pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, pushing it down into Lorenz's pants to wrap around his hand. The silk only drew more muted groans from him.

"It is- not enough- handkerchief-" Lorenz mumbled in between breathes, pulling another from his pocket. "Been... too long- messy." He tugged his pants down slightly, a grunt of discontent at their restriction.

_Messy? Oh fuck I hope so_. Claude pulled him out from the constraints of the fine fabric so as not to soil them- he could not see over his shoulder- he wanted to badly, turn Lorenz around a gain and put him on his back- but that _would_ be too much, he thought.

He took Lorenz's handkerchief then, too, wrapping it again around him. Claude pushed hard against him from behind, taking the fabric of Lorenz's silk shirt in his lips to hold in his own quiet grunts. He kissed and nibbled at him in turns, through the fabric, between heavy breaths.

A knock came at the door.

"I'm not stopping again." Claude growled into his ear. He quickened his pace, determined to finish before they might be interrupted, pressing his face into Lorenz's hair where it was tucked behind his ear.

"T-t... _unh_. Ten _minutes_!" Lorenz shouted at the knock.

Claude laughed, low and breathy:

"You aren't going to last _that_ long." Claude growled.

"AH!- Mmf!" Lorenz covered his mouth.

"Ouiet- agh, hnn... Come on- come in my hands-" Claude took him in both hands now; moving his hips with Lorenz's as he began to thrust into his grip. "Lorenz-"

"Mm... mn... mn..." He struggled to maintain his quiet. "... Hn... hn... Claude-"

Lorenz pushed his hips out, his back pressing into Claude- he had to push Lorenz into the table to steady him. He continued to struggle in short rhythm with his pulsing. The two handkerchiefs were barely enough, filling quickly, becoming warm and sticky in Claude's hands.

"Hhn... Ahh! Ahhh!"

"Yes... Fuck..." Claude pulled the handkerchiefs away, glimpsing him fully for the first time in years: his cock was a deep and sultry color, at least when engorged with lust, not unlike the blush across the back of his neck. Too tantalizing against the pale skin of his thighs. Still streaked with come, it was a sight to drive him mad: Claude briefly considered barricading the door for the remainder of the day. _If only to lick him clean and start over, taunt him to wrap his hands around me just the same, it's been too, too long-_

Instead, Claude returned to his seat to catch his breath, weak at the sight. Lorenz leaned forward, bracing himself on the table to recover. 

"That was... uncouth." Lorenz's predisposition for regret was setting in, his crest dissipated. 

"Uncouth? Nah. Sloppy: you _are_ messy." Claude wrapped the handkerchiefs around themselves with little success. "What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Your idea-" Lorenz sighed against the table. After a few more deep breaths he concluded "-not my concern."

"Wow. Thanks."

"What about you?" Lorenz turned on Claude slowly, tucking himself in.

Claude looked down at his own _needs._

"It can wait. I'm used to it." Claude deposited the used handkerchiefs into Lorenz's jacket pocket when he looked away.

"Used to?" Lorenz was already set about composing himself, but his eyes had not recovered. He looked hazy with want, letting his eyes wander about Claude's waist.

"Oh. You know. Just. A lot of interruptions." _Hard to see Hilda alone before her army of chaperones find us._

"Pity we are out of time. If you could have maintained your composure until we at least returned to the Hall..."

"But I can't. This is a consequence I can live with."

* * *

Before Lorenz could conjure some excuse to find himself again on his knees, the knock came to the door again, more urgent. They had both forgotten there was anyone waiting outside. 

Claude crossed his legs discreetly; Lorenz patted himself down allover to check for stray blemishes before answering the door.

Lalia was waiting, unamused, scowling. Just beyond her, Morven waited against the wall grinning slightly.

"Morven-" She began.

"I have come with a message from the Duke." He leaned up, approaching the doorway. "Count Gloucester raised Hel with him over Claude's sleight. He wants me to serve as extra Guard for _you_ on your errands, a precaution in the event that Lalia may come under _anonymous_ attack."

"Unlikely- my father will want public retribution that will help cement his 'innocent' trade ties with the Empire. Even so, I have a preference for Cassiopeia- fetch her if I must come under extra guard." Lorenz rejected him. "Otherwise, deliver my declination to the Duke and thank him for his concerns."

"Cassiopeia is indisposed. You have my word, I am to carry out my job discreetly by the Duke's own command."

"Your services are unnecessary in consideration of your conflict of interest. Goodbye Morven." Claude came to the door as Morven opened his mouth to argue. He closed it and waited for Claude's input.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Claude stood beside Lorenz, arm around his back, running his hand up and down his side possessively; in the basement hall only their own guard were present, and the twins barely counted. The childish behavior did not suit Lorenz, but he let it happen for Claude's comfort. _It might entertain me if it caused some discomfort for Morven- but he is only pleased at Claude's desperation, I am sure. _Morven continued, unconcerned.

"The Duke knows about our dispute, and he does not care. He sent me because I am qualified; to make up for _your_ ineptitude." He turned back to Lorenz. "You may refuse, but I will follow you regardless having been given the order the supersedes your own."

"I suppose I cannot stop you. I will be blunt: I trust your capacity as a butler as little as I trust your character. You keep your distance." Lorenz returned.

"Noted. Lord Claude: the Duke wants you to meet him back at the Hall promptly."

"Right." Claude made no move to leave ahead of Lorenz.

"Do as you like, Morven. You may go on and wait ahead." Lorenz ordered. Morven only moved across the hall, still watching defiantly.

Lorenz felt, momentarily, that immature desire to show out. Claude's hand rested on his hip now, digging: he took it, pressing his forehead against Claude's.

"I will see you this evening. Careful on your return." He lavished his words with deep and drawling tones of sickly sweet affection, before leaning down for one light and slow kiss goodbye. 

When Lorenz let his eyes dart away for only a moment, he saw that Morven only stared without change in his expression. _A resolutely stiff expression is just as telling: he _is_ uncomfortable... or worse. _Lorenz was satisfied when he drew away from a stunned Claude.

"Yeah. See you tonight-"

Morven issued a soft and pretentious clap.

"An excellent display of loyalty, Lord Lorenz. Your graceful affection is as lovely as your pleasured chorus." Morven praised flatly, regarding them as though he were critiquing a painting. "You will be late to the Anderton's should you continue attempting to incite my envy. A wasted effort." Lorenz flushed at his failed display, and began walking down the hall without comment. Lalia and Morven both scrambled to keep pace with him. He trailed with him a rebuke for Morven.

"My efforts are not for your benefit or retribution; keep further commentary to yourself for the duration of your _stalking_." He gave Claude one last thoughtful look; it _was_ meant to be a show, but it was more fulfilling being seen than he expected. It hurt him in his chest a little knowing their affection was not to be a more than a private affair.

He left Claude in the doorway, alone with his guards. 


	39. Divided Loyalties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

The journey to the Anderton's was too slow through the crowds; the people who should be more concerned with the Roundtable proceedings were instead visiting the city for the social and capital trade that came with the event. The shopkeepers were showier, the vendors louder, the thrum of the crowd pressing in from all sides; and yet Morven's silent presence cut through them all to bear on Lorenz and Lalia's foul moods.

By the time they reached the modest house, Lalia snapped at Morven the moment he inquired about their visit.

"None of your concern! Watch the horses."

"Of course, Madam Lalia." She was taken aback at the formal deference to seniority: insinuating she was much older and part of the Riegan Hierarchy. _He knows I'm one of the Duke's maids... a wedge he can drive between Lorenz and me._ He answered her confusion plainly. "You are elder me by, what, four odd years? More? I am only being polite."

"Goddess, leave it Lalia. We are wasting the day." Lorenz let himself into the front gate ahead of her, putting as much space as possible between them and Morven's insultingly professional disposition.

The guards were absent. Lalia knocked.

"No one is home." She informed him.

"Lovely. Perhaps they are about enjoying the day in the city. There are street performers during the Roundtable, usually..." Lorenz paled a shade. "You know, best to check and ensure they have not all been murdered. Let us in. Discreetly." Lalia kneeled to pick the lock, while Lorenz casually shifted himself to block her from the street's view. The door clicked open. Drawing weapons as a precaution, they entered: finding the house was truly, blessedly empty.

"Ah, thank heavens. It is just as well- I had no desire to pry details from Jericho so soon."

"... The sooner the better."

"Yes, but we shall try tomorrow. There is far too much happening in these few days. I want to go see Hilda." They let themselves out, re-locking the door.

"She is coming to the Hall tonight."

"Yes- but Claude will be there. And everyone else."

"Her father will be at their local Estate."

"Her father loves me." They left the yard, Lorenz and Lalia mounting.

"Whose father?" Morven inquired.

"You are still on probation." Lorenz turned back to Lalia. "We must speak with the Duke at length about his choice of hire."

"Leave it- you will come across as immature. As for visiting Hilda: best wait until she comes to you. She is a busy woman, you might forget. Her father is no small burden."

"Hm. Last time I chose to ignore you I made a fool of myself. Let us go home." There was a broad silence while they wound their way back through the crowds.

"... Home, Lord Lorenz?" Morven asked.

"Ah, silly of me. I was thinking of Gloucester Hall." He answered without pause, but he was smiling softly; Gloucester Hall was empty when it was not full of traitors- certainly not the home he meant.

  


* * *

  


They returned to Riegan hall earlier than they were expected; Lalia turned to advance on the kitchens to prepare lunch. Morven lingered, hands folded behind him.

“Are you not to be protecting Lalia?” Lorenz turned on him, irritated.

“I was instructed to protect you in the event Lalia was attacked and compromised.”

“I hardly doubt we are in imminent danger from the Riegan staff. You will return to the Duke.”

“The Duke permitted me to spend the rest of the day in your service, and I should like to continue in your company.” Now that they were alone in the quiet foyer, his professional and calm manner of speaking tone was soothing... But misleading: it noted nothing of the conspirator he was or his violence in sparring. It caught Lorenz off guard, making him regret once again he must consider Morven an enemy.

“No. I am going to the dining hall- find yourself elsewhere.”

“Yes, My Lord. I will be in the Library-” Lorenz ignored him, leaving Morven to speak to himself “-should you find need of me.” _So indulgently arrogant. Shame his ire must be directed at me._ Morven made his way to check in on the Duke with some sense of regret.

When Lorenz entered the dining hall, he found Claude pacing along it’s length, hand stroking his chin in thought.

"Claude? Did your talk with the Duke go well?"

"No. Not at all. He wants to turn Lalia over to our militia for now, and hold a trial when the Roundtable adjourns."

"... Unacceptable." Lorenz sneered, turning on his heel with a mission to scold the Duke and possibly have himself banished from Riegan Hall, the Riegan Estate, and all of Derdriu.

"Lorenz, wait."

"I have made my mind up."

"No. He's… busy. Bring it up later."

"... _Busy?_ Lalia is under threat of being detained. If he wanted peace, he should have… I do not know, taken another course of action!“ Lorenz objected, throwing his hands in the air. He knew it was the only route The Duke could properly take. That did not make it palatable.

"He's not doing great. He’s tired.” Claude lowered his voice. “He’s sick."

"The Duke is ill enough to deny visitors during the Roundtable week?” This gave Lorenz pause, considering Lalia seemed to be in no danger of being arrested away straightaway, he addressed the matter directly. “…What is your contingency in the event of his death?"

"Lorenz!"

"No- the moment will be upon you when you least expect it. I need to know what you will require of me."

"... I don't want to talk about it today."

“Fine- then we continue our conversation about Lalia.”

“He’s giving you until the morning with her. To square things away."

“Nonsense. I absolutely refuse to force her to stand trial against my father: he will pay people to lie; he will fabricate evidence; he will have her murdered if she is found innocent. I want you to understand: I would smuggle her from the city before I let her perform in such an act. She will _not_ be imprisoned."

“Ugh… well…”

“You _will_ help me, Claude.” It was not a request.

“Do you think she would let you? I mean, how bad will it look if _your_ murderous maid conveniently goes missing?”

“… You will help me convince her as well. My reputation can suffer such a blow- especially as it seems I have a broader support base, separate from my father, than I knew.” Lorenz began to consider the scandal may turn in their favor. “If my supporters are anything like Jericho, they will not be Empire aligned, and her rescue may even further solidify my loyalty to the Alliance.

“But it’ll definitely put you on a side. Publicly.”

“It would: I, _we_, will have to 'choose' eventually. The alternative is we can frame her as a criminal, she escapes, I remonstrate her actions and play the gold-hearted fool to remain neutral in stance.”

“That’s boring.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Lalia interrupted them, having returned with a light lunch balanced across her arms. “You cannot force me to leave. I will stand trial if the Duke orders it.” She set the plates down without fanfare.

“Lalia- why?” Lorenz let his distress show plainly for a moment.

“It’s the only thing that can absolve me- and keep me here. I will not run off to some safe distance while there remain threats to your life.”

“The Duke’s orders are irrelevant:_ I_ will not allow it. You will leave on my order.”

“I must disobey.” She answered with finality. She gestured at the places she had set. “Eat.”

They seated, only Lalia partaking. Claude looked between them, seeming nervous.

“Lalia…?” Claude said her name like a proposition. _Why doesn’t she just tell him now? Tell him she’s part of House Riegan? Hell, The Duke might even have her trial rigged. It could put everyone at ease._ “You wanna…?”

“Later. Tonight. For now, I want to eat.”

“Later? Tonight what?!” Lorenz demanded.

“_Later_.” She emphasized before ignoring his several consecutive huffs. 

  


* * *

  


It dawned on Lorenz he had yet to divulge his conversation with Lord Adalius. The day had become as though several, and was yet only half over.

As soon as he began, a maid interrupted them, informing Claude that Hilda had arrived early. Lorenz and Claude both brightened, before turning on the other and rekindling their mutual jealousies.

"...Tell her _I'll_ meet her in the front sitting room." Claude answered the maid.

"My Lord, she requested the audience of Lord Lorenz as well."

"Naturally. We will be there momentarily." Lorenz answered her kindly, before smirking at Claude. When the maid bowed out, they rose quickly, as though to race. Taking up a reserved pace, Lorenz far out-stepped Claude’s slightly shorter stride.

When they arrived in the sitting room, Hilda was absent her usual retinue, having banished them to the foyer to wait. She was arranged in the middle of the couch, sipping a cup of tea pink as her hair. She looked up after a deep drink.

"Ah! Finally, all three of us together! I tried to get Marianne to come but... you know!"

Lorenz and Claude looked askance at one another, agreeing by eye contact to keep things civil: they took to the couch on the opposite side of the table instead of crowding Hilda... But, after they both settled, Hilda pushed her cup across the table, opting to rise and sit between them. She took her tea up again, ignoring the uncomfortable air.

"I did manage to bring Marianne up on Lysithea's plans. I didn't want to go to the Derdriu Estate yet- Father is always grumpy during the Roundtable. Holst can deal with him."

"I am delighted; I suggested to Lalia that we visit Goneril Hall, eager to see you again. To find you here is a lovely surprise." Hilda set her cup down; Lorenz with all his fluid grace filled it again from the lacy white teapot that matched her lacy cream and lavender dress.

"Aww, can't get enough of me?" Hilda flirted playfully. Claude bristled. "You're so flattering, Lorenz. But... I heard you were both attacked, and one of your wyverns was hurt." She turned to Claude, worried.

"It's not supposed to be common knowledge."

"Oh no- it's not, the Duke told my father. Are you both okay?"

"Lorenz fainted again-" Claude mocked him.

"Claude broke his leg and passed out trying to walk on it-" Lorenz retorted.

"Wow!" She nibbled on a scone. "Claude, your leg doesn't look hurt."

"...It was healed up. Expertly." His ears turned red, remembering Lorenz running his warm hand over it. The pain had not returned.

"That's nice. Lorenz, why did you faint?"

"It was... stress related."

"Weird. You've never fainted in battle."

"I watched a wyvern tear a man in half three yards away. It was gruesome even considering the scope of battle."

"Ew!"

"I apologize Hilda, that was crude." She took his hand. Claude straightened in his seat.

"I'm worried about you... Was it hard for you, to watch Lysithea, and to see your father...?"

"Yes." Her concern struck him harder than he liked. "Perhaps more than I..." He rubbed his eyes.

"Oh, it's okay to cry."

"No, I am merely fatigued." She lay her other hand on his, lacing fingers with him.

"It's gonna be okay Lorenz-" She turned her head to scold Claude under her breath: _"Stop being petty_!" she mouthed, as his arm wrapped around her.

To her surprise, he was reaching for Lorenz, not pawing at her possessively.

_Oh oh oh, I had it backwards. He's jealous of me right now, not Lorenz._ Hilda realized. _Aw, he's kinda pathetic!_ She leaned forward so he could reach Lorenz better, his full hand rubbing up and down his back.

"Thank you both, but I am not a child."

"Don't be like that." Hilda cooed.

"I think I will take a moment alone."

"I'll come-" Claude started.

"I'll get you tucked in in no time!" Hilda cut him off. She guided Lorenz by his hand.

"I am sorry- it is just a headache. I can see myself out." _Tucked in?_

"Come on, it's no problem." Hilda turned back to Claude, wrinkling her nose up and sticking out her tongue. "I've got you Lorenz."

"Thank you. Good afternoon Claude."

  


* * *

  


At his room, Hilda did not leave him. She followed him all the way in, to his bed, waving Lalia away when she came to attend him. Lalia knew how to take a hint- stepping outside to leave the two alone.

"When you fainted the first time, your servant, she sang something to you." Hilda mentioned, more or less leading him to the bed. It was not his intention to sleep, but he was inclined to play to her lead.

"Yes, Lalia has been with me since I was a child.” He murmured against his dull headache “…It is a lullaby in a forgotten tongue."

"Lorenz, you're so dumb. It's Almyran."

"... Almyt? Lalia said she did not know what the words meant... How do you know?" He asked weakly from behind a hand pressed over his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed, but Hilda urged him to lay down.

"Always At War with Almyra House Goneril? Need to Decipher Messages and Talk with the Servants House Goneril? We all learn Almyran- and Almyt. One is spoken, the other is written." She brushed his hair from his temples, down around his ears where they were nestled in the pillows. "...I can sing it for you. Does it help?"

"... Singing or speaking, your voice is a divine siren song."

Hilda’s heart fluttered a little. It startled her to admit how much she had missed him from two weeks ago, from nearly two years ago. She was glad he wouldn't see her blush.

She hummed the melody first, fine tuning her memory. She started the words in softly. Nervous of the cadence, she evened out confidently after the first verse. Hilda’s voice was glassier than Lalia's rich and deep tones, giving the song a new airiness. Lorenz still could not understand the words; but the feeling behind it changed with his new songstress.

Hilda stumbled over only a few words, beginning to stroke his cheek in rhythm with the chorus. She pulled away; instead, taking his free hand, Hilda ran a single finger around the edge of his own. One at a time, slow and light she stroked around each finger, before turning his hand upward to caress his palm. Her touch faded with the song.

"Next time, I promise you will not have to see me off to bed..." Lorenz apologized. He still had not intended to sleep, but it seemed Hilda had won.

"... I like watching you sleep. No one is prettier." She whispered. He felt her hovering over him for some time, as he drifted into a comfortable doze. Pressing her own hand over Lorenz’s where he covered his eyes, she leaned close to him. Perhaps a fantasy on the edge of sleep, Lorenz believed he felt petite, soft lips pressed over his for only a moment. It could only be a dream.


	40. Unwanted Accomodations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

Claude leaned against the wall outside of Lorenz’s room. When an Almyran song began to filter around the door, his jealousy doubled: already envious that Hilda was the one attending Lorenz, now he was equally petty that Hilda would sing for _him_. Just as he considered leaving, tired of torturing himself, Hilda emerged from Lorenz's room. Claude caught her running her finger over her lips before she noticed him.

"Put him to sleep, huh?" He asked sharply.

"M_hmm_." She grinned without remorse.

"What are you doing, Hilda?"

"Nothing. You wanna talk about how soft his hands are?"

"No. Are you leaving?"

"Stop being like that. I hoped we could finish talking."

"... Maybe we should. He found your letter to me, and it was altered to be more incriminating." He directed her down the stairs, through a long hallway, to find their way to a drawing room; their favorite drawing room. He took a different path to avoid the foyer, and her chaperones.

"Oh... Oh that's bad. Was he angry?" _He can’t be too angry. With me at least._

Claude let the question simmer, pausing outside of the drawing room door.

"... Angry enough to stick his tongue in some servants mouth." He grumbled at last.

"Lorenz? _Dallying_? With the _staff?"_ She gasped aloud.

"Don't say it like that." Claude shifted uncomfortably, irritated she could be so playful about the affair. "I mean I guess it technically wasn't a servant... more like a spy. One of the Butlers."

"Spicy. Did you apologize?"

"What? Why me?" Claude grimaced, sure he was about to be humiliated.

"Um, yeah. I make out with my maids all the time- don't tell me: you got mad at him for ‘mixing it up’ even though you've been messing around with _me_ the whole time. That's cheap, Claude."

"It's different."

"No it's not." Hilda was unrelenting.

"Yes it is! It's _Lorenz_! He's supposed to be..." He held his hands out, searching the floor for his excuses while waving his arms.

"Easy? Faithful? Stupid? Come on, he's a whole person. You've always put him on a pedestal." She brushed her hair through her fingers, easy as she breezed through his reasons. "I bet you let _him_ apologize to you and you're still using it to blackmail him."

"No. After we were attacked, we both agreed to leave it for now. We both apologized for... other things."

Hilda was shocked. She had predicted his behavior flawlessly for years; to hear he had so rapidly matured made her proud to be wrong. He opened the door to the drawing room at last; her chaperones bustling through the corridors.

"Awww, you're growing up! I'm so _proud_ of you-"

"Stop it." He took her around the waist.

"My chaperones are coming."

"So?"

"I thought we were done with this? I thought we had to stop because Lorenz is in love with me- that was your idea."

"That's not exactly how I worded it."

"It's what you meant."

"Well, Lorenz left me to 'fend for myself' if you know what I mean."

"Oh- you're that involved already?"

"Maybe... You said what you did before you began courting wasn't anyone's business."

"Hm. True. BUT-" She pushed his hands away just as her procession arrived. "My chastity belt is here." She referred to her retinue as they came around a corner in an exasperated phalanx.

"Lady Hilda, one of us must attend you. Your father specified NO private meetings with Lord Claude." The older maid reminded her sternly.

"Nch! Fine! Nasira can come with me." Hilda beckoned the youngest of them. The older maid looked as though she wanted to protest, but left it, eyeing Claude with disdain.

"Yes, My Lady." A demure, Almyran maid with long black hair, all in pink ruffles, came forward. She passed the threshold ahead of them. Hilda turned to wave the rest of them away.

"Take a break for lunch. The kitchens are on the east end." The two others bowed and departed, confident that one maid would suffice in a closed room.

The maid Nasira waited for them to enter, then locked the door behind them. Claude looked at her suspiciously, curious that she would lock them in. _Hilda isn't _that_ wily_. He sat down awkwardly, feeling cheated by the maid: he had no mind for polite conversation, but there was nothing else to be done.

To distract himself, Claude became curious about Nasira- not surprised she was Almyran, with the Goneril tradition of taking captives as servants, but he wondered why she was trained as a maid. It wasn’t typical for the servants to be trained in any combat- or anything but serving. It would give them too much revolting power.

Claude didn't hold it against Hilda specifically- yet- but it would become her problem and his in the near future.

"Okay Nasi, The servant's exit is behind that panel." Hilda pointed to a bare corner between a shelf and another wall, where a door hid in one of the panels. "It goes to several rooms- pick one and don't get caught."

"Yes, Lady Hilda. I will return in an hour." Nasira let herself out; Claude stared in surprise.

"You've cut a deal with one of your chaperones?"

"Not just any chaperone- one of Holst's many retainers. Can you guess what I'm keeping secret in exchange for her cooperation?" Hilda asked in sing song.

"His retainer... She's Almyran. Does she really help him fight her own people?"

"Hm. Well. She's kinda like Cyril: young, dedicated to the people who took her in- and she grew up with Holst. She was born in Fodlan to servants from one of the Western Goneril Houses."

"...She's sleeping with him."

"Not yet! Caught her making a mess of his bed while he was gone though."

"Don't be too hard on her. Almyrans are a _passionate_ people."

"I'm not! This is a way to get to know her better; I really like her. And if I like her, Holst definitely likes her, and I am so good at matchmaking." She smiled.

"... I thought Holst was betrothed. You're going to break that up?" Claude thought better of her. Hilda played pretend coy, as she did when ready to gossip.

"He waaaas betrothed. Seems like more and more Gonerils are refusing to intermarry: his fiancee-to-be, our cousin fifth removed who lives somewhere in the south of the county, got pregnant by a servant... Another Almyran. Oh, the _uproar_." She removed her shoes to relax across the couch. "I mean, they've been betrothed for ten years: like they were actually ever going to put effort into it. I know _I'm_ not marrying another Goneril. It's _weird_. It's _gross_."

"I hope your parents know better than to try to arrange your marriage after what happened last time." They shared a dark laugh over their own scandal.

"Oh, they KNOW, but they keep inviting all of my eligible cousins over who were 'passing by.' It's _nasty_! And only boys! All the Goneril Girls are so bright, at least their company would be pleasant."

"You have to admit, intermarrying made your House one of the strongest: most Houses are dwindling."

"Goneril could stand to dwindle a little bit. It's bad enough there are Alliance-wide disputes, we don't need so many factions of Goneril that we inter fight; can you believe _my own family_ has tried to assassinate me? And it’s not like the rate of Crest bearers hasn’t declined anyway." She stated it neutrally, unconcerned with the hang-ups of her predecessors. "Fortunately," she giggled "our obsession with Almyrans is starting to turn to from opposition to fascination... Present company included."

Hilda ran a hand across her chest slowly, inviting Claude to do the same and more. He relented, leaving his chair and leaning over her on the couch to scatter kisses across her cleavage. He came up to face her, breathless.

"... I guess this is the last time." He was already desperate from his morning with Lorenz; otherwise he might have the will to reject her completely. He loosed his belt out of necessity, Hilda noted.

"Really? I didn't think you meant it."

"Messing with you puts a strain on me and Lorenz. He thinks he's going to marry you." Claude inhaled when her fingers ran over his abdomen. "Either way, it looks bad."

"That's not fair." She pouted. "Do I get a say in it? What if this puts a strain on us?" She twirled a finger around his ear, flipping his earring back and forth playfully.

"You know it won't. Besides, we have to behave differently if you're going to be my retainer." She wrapped her hands around his shoulders; he grew tense instead of relaxing, his voice becoming serious.

"...I just can't stop thinking about him. It's driving me crazy."

"Ooo. Tell me about it?" She folded an arm out to run it again across his navel, dipping her hand down to test how 'crazy' Lorenz made him.

"... No." He pushed his hips forward, pressing into her hand.

"You're so jealous. Are you afraid I'm gonna steal him right out of your fantasies?"

_You're already stealing him. Claude thought. I wouldn't have to be jealous if they both didn't want one another… I’m just an interruption._

"You're thinking about something sad. Stop that." Hilda kissed him on the forehead. "Here and now, Claude von Riegan."

He gave up trying to puzzle out his feelings, burying his face again in her chest. He breathed in her sweet skin, soft and vanilla, rosy where the stubble he could never keep at bay had pulled across it. She continued to tease him, refusing to take him fully in hand, before pulling away.

"Mmm. Oh, I 'm going to miss this." Hilda caressed the back of his neck; she loved how his skin slid under her hands with each turn of his head; the downy curls of his neckline. Claude moved to her lips, kissing her deeply while they worked together to unlace the bodice of her dress. Their hands tangled and ran together between the ribbons; at last, he pulled the ribbon free of the final eyelet and the corset fell open. 

"Hilda... it's been too too long." Though he looked over her naked chest, sadness filled his green eyes.

_Twice in one day; I should feel lucky._ He instead felt miserable, indulging in Hilda while Lorenz slept upstairs._ It isn’t fair that my last day with Hilda still makes me feel guilty. I’m doing the ‘right thing’... isn't that enough?_

Claude pulled away, trying to let the shame roll off of him.

"Is something wrong?" Hilda asked, leaning up with him.

"I'm... stressed."

"I can tell. Here." She pulled him onto the couch, the pressed him against the back, lifting herself up to straddle him. Bare chested, her skirt making it's way down her hips, she opened his shirt to massage his shoulders.

"Why shouldn't I have everything I want?" He whispered to her, placing his hands on her hips. "I want you. I want Lorenz. I want..." He couldn't finish.

"You can have everything you want, _or_ you can be a good person." She said with a touch of sarcasm. "That's what it feels like, sometimes."

"I guess." He closed his eyes, letting Hilda's surprisingly strong hands knead away his cares. She began to grind against his lap, shifting slightly to position his bulge _just so_. Only scant fabric separated them. 

"I _m i s s e d _ you Claude." Hilda echoed her sentiments from their first encounter, leaning into him so his head rested between her breasts. "I love you."

"I love you too Hilda." He said, muffled by her embrace. Claude pushed on her hips, urging her to push harder, to move faster. He became desperate; selfish. Leaning back, he risked their moment together:

"Hilda. I want to do _everything_."

“Oh. Uh…” She looked hurt; he regretted it immediately. “Sorry, but-”

"No- wait- I'm sorry. Just... Sorry."

"I understand Claude- I really do..."

"I know." He wrapped his arms around her tightly. "I know you understand more than anyone." _Why shouldn't I marry her? She said we don't want that- how can she be sure? This is harder than I thought- we've been together for years. What am I giving up?_

With her body pressed against his, he could imagine everything- everything bad and everything good. From her marrying him, watching her face when she found out she was married to a Prince, and seeing her crowned, their children. He could see her with Lorenz, the two of them slowly forgetting about him as the years pass- maybe he wouldn't even come back to Fodlan. He could see her dying on the battlefield in front of him, protecting him to her last breath. It all hurt- any of it could come true, and it was something he couldn't plan for.

"This is supposed to be fun." She mumbled, slowing her hips to a soft sway. "You're upset."

"Sorry."

"I know what'll cheer you up regardless." She let herself off of the couch, body sliding down between his legs slowly.

"I don't know about cheering me up, but I'll definitely feel better." His arousal had returned in force the moment she ran her hand suggestively across her chest earlier. After his tortured morning with Lorenz in the meeting room; in spite of his somber mood: he could hardly contain himself. 

"Hh ah." The moment she ran her hand over his pants to release him, he tensed reflexively. Hilda smiled at his reaction, humming with pleasure when unbuttoning his pants sent his head rolling back over the couch. "Fuck."

"You've never been that sensitive. Still thinking about Lorenz?" He couldn't answer her. His myriad thoughts about Hilda had merged again into his fantasy of having both her and Lorenz at his knees. 

"No." He chanced looking down at her, her breasts pooled against his lap. _This is going to be embarrassing. It's been too long without someone else— I'm not gonna last._ He heard Lorenz's voice from earlier proclaiming the same _"It's been too long- messy."_ It made him dizzy over again with desire. 

"... Sure." She ran her fingers over him softly before he seized her hand.

"No teasing. Not today."

She smiled sweetly, as if pitying him—

Then became serious.

In seconds Hilda transformed from cute to sultry. Suddenly her pink lips looked more pouty, her eyes more lustful. It always amazed Claude, how she changed when she was done playing. She licked her lips again, letting their glossy softness roll over him in slow centimeters. 

"aaAh..." Claude whimpered at her tongue working slowly up and down in her mouth. "Hilda..."

Hilda nodded and bobbed her head, turning in gentle intervals so her tongue could reach all of him. His hands reached out, taking her twintails tenderly. He squeezed, but didn't pull. 

"PLeease... more..." He begged. She only went slower. "Faster. I can't... I can't stand it."

Instead she let off, popping her wet lips from him before licking them over. 

"Tell me you love me again." She demanded.

"I _love you_\- uhhn!" She pushed his hands away, holding them against the cushions, while she rolled her tongue over him again. Claude’s mind took bizarre and fanciful turns when nearing climax, this time conjuring a selfish rejoicing. _Her mouth, so warm, hot: she’s mine. Her lips have only tasted my cock, her tongue was made for me, for this. Oh I love her- I wish, I want to see her, see her… under Lorenz… in her mouth…!!! _

It only took two deep lunges for him to finish.

"I love you, Hilda- Hilda-!" He had the habit of soft kicking, bracing against the floor with his feet and sliding on the carpet: trying and failing to push away reflexively from the unbearable pleasure. She nearly had to hold him down as he hips rose and fell desperately; his eyes closed, Claude indulged in her soft swallowing amid mixed envy and fantasy voyeurism, picturing the three of them entangled.

Hilda drew away, running her finger over her lips again as she had after kissing Lorenz. She let Claude recover while she patted her face dry, appreciating how his hard breathing and tremors made his navel pull and twitch. When he calmed, she dropped her dress off completely, pushing Claude's own clothing off and away as much as she could. 

It was her favorite part: just being with him bare and unflinching. There was no one else in the world she could lay on, hold and love so closely without fear or shame. He turned on the couch to lay; she on top of him. Head tucked into his chest, he traced shapes along her back, made swirls of her hair and breathed her in.

But there was never enough time.

The servant’s exit creaked open. 

Hilda’s bolted up, arms to chest to cover herself.

"Wait! Not yet!" Hilda demanded in a strained whisper, irritated. _Did we lose track of the time?!_

The servant's exit creaked open more, Nasira speaking rapidly through it.

"My Lady, Lorenz is about and searching for you both; I cannot intervene without being seen by the other chaperones. Hurry!" She reported deftly, her eyes turned away.

Hilda fell off of the couch trying to recover her bodice dress. Claude helped her up; then it was a race, each to their own, to make presentable. When Claude was clothed, he watched as Hilda fumble with the corset; he tried to help- this wasn't the first time- but she slapped his hands away for interfering. Nasira emerged from the servants door, dashing over to lace her up properly when the knob on the main door wiggled.

"Hilda? Claude?" Lorenz's muffled voice came through the door. "Are you sure this is the correct room?" he asked of someone in the hall.

“Damn his long legs!” Claude cursed under his breath.

Nasira's fingers worked as fast as she could- Claude decided to answer the door himself, to stall.

"Oh, is it- is it locked?" He shouted across the room.

"Of course it is locked you imbecile- I am sure it is your doing."

"Hold on!" Claude meandered to the door as Nasira perfected the corset bow, and Hilda took a relaxed pose. When he opened the door, he could feel how false his smile must look. "I thought you were going to sleep off a headache?"

"... It passed. I only meant to excuse myself for a moment- but when Hilda insisted I be put to bed, I tried my earnest to sleep at her command. No such luck." He peered around Claude and frowned. Hilda was wide eyed and obvious; Lorenz's voice fell. "... You could just tell me if my company was a hindrance... My apologies." He turned and left abruptly.

"No-Lorenz-!" Claude called after him, following.

After a few moments, Hilda presumed no one was coming back.

“You know what Nasira? I think I've done enough home wrecking today. It’s time to leave.” Hilda decided awkwardly.

The maid nodded in agreement, and they let themselves out.  



	41. Unwanted Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

Claude followed Lorenz down the hall. There was no point in hiding it now.

"Lorenz, we didn't want you to leave- it was just happenstance- convenient."

"It does nothing to resolve the heart of the matter." Lorenz said dully.

"It does. No more. We aren't- we aren't going to be involved anymore. This was the last time- the farewell. Please- please believe me."

Lorenz looked at him, tired.

"That is neither fair to you or to Hilda. I have been selfish." Claude was confused. He tilted his head, furrowing his brows.

"Selfish? No- No, you're just- uh." He babbled, hoping the right words would piece themselves together. "You just can't help how you feel."

"That is not the matter” Lorenz waved his hand to dismiss the idea. “I should not allow my own runaway fantasies dictate control of your own lives. I... I threw a tantrum, like a jealous child when I read your letter, invaded your privacy. I alone imagined Hilda to be some monument to perfection, making me feeble, incapable of learning she is merely human with the same desires for comfort as I sought for myself. I am so, so, deeply sorry I... I interrupted your lives for my own petty vanity." Lorenz twisted a lock of his hair.

Claude didn't expect an apology for several months, or maybe years; he had not prepared his own. He watched him for a moment, before grabbing the hand that worried about his hair.

“You gotta stop doing that, you’re gonna pull all your hair out.” Claude took the seized hand, lowering it to pet over the back of it.

"I admit, the only reason I came back from sleep is because I realized the two of you were alone together. Even this apology is rooted in the self flagellation I inflict on myself by seeking out more proof of the infidelity I have imagined."

"You don’t have to keep explaining." His words were sincere; the more genuine Lorenz was, the more syllables he shoved into his speeches, the more metaphors and poetic drawl. "Let's go talk to Hilda."

"Not just now. I may be able to elucidate my feelings and flaws, but I am still not free of the resentment. I want to be alone. I want time to be _angry_." Though at first he seemed remorseful, his last comment put out an air of disgust.

“Yeah. Okay. We’ll talk later.”

Lorenz nodded, pulling his hand sharply from Claude’s to make anywhere else. Before turning the corner for the stairwell, he looked back at Claude, thoughtful.

“I suppose, what I am trying to intimate, in my anger… If it were me, I would not waste Hilda’s affection so readily for someone like me. You are making the wrong choice.”

* * *

Lorenz intended to retreat to the library reflexively, before considering he did not know where it was located in Riegan Hall. After failing to find it himself (and cursing the Riegan wealth that allowed such a sprawling maze to be constructed for a _second_ home), he asked a passing servant. Before entering the room, he braced himself to be offended again at what would likely be another massive library that might put the Gloucester collection to shame.

Instead, Lorenz found a rather cozy room. Low in ceiling, only single story, and about the size of his guest suite. It seemed almost laughable, before he walked to the middle of the room to find that there were blind archways tucked between the shelves. They lead in either direction: to consecutive rooms of the same size. He was excited at the architecture, but his ego was once again wounded. So enamored of the ornate shelves and walls of books, Lorenz did not notice the library’s other occupants.

"Lord Lorenz." Morven greeted him from a chair, half rising as if to serve him straightaway.

"No, sit. Have you seen Lalia?" Lorenz set up the excuse to leave.

"No, My Lord. Have you forgiven me yet?"

"Nothing to forgive of you per my own weakness; but that does not mean I must like or associate with you."

"That is such a dreadful loss: I earnestly enjoyed speaking with you."

"You should have considered such an outcome before you deceived me, and broke my arm."

"You are aware it had nothing to do with the broken arm... but if that is the defense you need to recover, I will not deny it." Morven bowed his head slightly as if acquiescing to an unreasonable demand.

The veiled sleight drew Lorenz in expertly.

"Did it not? You were terrifying- you could have killed me with that mock axe."

"Could? Yes. I would not, however; I merely wanted to put the fear in you, to dissolve your anger. Did you not feel much relieved after you were harrowed, too weak to fight back? Nothing to ground you like facing mortality."

"I felt too many things that day to consider one apart from the other. That you planted that letter, and forged it, to make me angry, leads me to doubt your supposed intentions." Lorenz crossed his arms, looking down his nose.

"... Forged, my Lord?"

"Claude and Hilda have both confirmed that she never wrote such a thing."

"Yet it revealed the truth in the end, did it not?" Morven deftly avoided admitting any involvement in the forgery.

"I would have sooner remained ignorant."

"... Do you believe Lord Claude and yourself would be on such good terms now, if you did not have it out?"

"Perhaps not-"

"Your honesty is your most endearing flaw. Truly.” Morven denied him making excuses. “I return to my original claim: I aided you."

"Your interference was a coincidence, aligning with a long-coming resolution."

"Have you heard of tempering?” Morven changed the subject: no longer accepting Lorenz’s refutation of his involvement.

"Should I? Another one of your alluring Dagdan techniques?" He finally sat down, ready to argue earnestly. It would make him feel better after finding Claude and Hilda being… _suspicious_. He would not allow himself to imagine what they might have been up to, even with a maid present. This would be a welcome distraction.

"Not precisely; this technique hails from Morfis. It transfers very poorly, but I have done my best to implement it within the bounds of Fodlaner ignorance of such practices. It is a... complex manner of trial that has been so woven into their noble houses that it is difficult to replicate abroad. I studied it among my interest in Illusions."

"It is a type of magic, then?" Lorenz could not help himself; whether to learn more about magic, or to hear Morven spin more lies: either would be useful. If the man insisted on following him around, it was better to become familiar with his manner of manipulation.

"Not the sort of magic that requires a tome. It is an illusion that toys with the mind, with belief and consequence."

"Politics."

"Haha. In a manner of speaking, but more personal. As I said, it is very difficult to replicate. Let us say a noble house wishes that their heirs are raised with the utmost in keen senses, thoughtfulness, and to monitor their reactions. Perhaps they want to instill their sense of ethics or mannerisms without trying to force it on the heir directly."

"A tactic which so rarely works." Lorenz quipped. _Although, such force worked for my Father to some extent._ He remembered painfully the day his father discovered Lorenz's fondness for the servants and the years of obedience that followed. 

"Precisely. Instead of pushing their views directly, they place among the staff one or more Pretenders: those who will set up complex situations that the heir must navigate. They do not know when they are being tested- these situations are manufactured alongside the relational ephemera of everyday life. It serves a twofold purpose.

"They can guide the heirs to select the correct response, which will result in a favorable and positive outcome: reinforcing the behavior. It also serves in that the heirs do not know which situations are real and which are trials: so they approach everyday life with the utmost nuance and delicacy. No rash decisions are made in Morfis. Sometimes, however, the situations are such to push them beyond their limit: to break them so they can begin anew in some respect." 

"That sounds maddening. You are roundabout telling me you ‘tempered’ Claude and I so we could... what?"

"Overcome your childishness. I earnestly did it for _you_ Lorenz- oh, I am such the expert that I could have taken you for myself and you never would have spent a moment crying over Claude.” A wickedness overtook his voice and his eyes briefly, before he became amiable again. “But it became too clear what _you_ wanted, what Fodlan needed. I proverbially pulled you by your ears into maturity. You are so fortunate I am a selfless man."

The taunt made Lorenz hate him more: that Morven suggested he was so weak of will; that he could _not only_ be manipulated as he had been, but that it could be utilized to divorce Lorenz from his very principles for the long term.

“I will remain skeptic, especially considering your motives. I am a fool for even speaking with you.” Lorenz decided it was time to leave, before Morven produced a book. He would stay a moment longer.

“You are right to remain cautious. Nevertheless, as a remorseful friend, I brought you one of those books I mentioned; this one considers non-magic illusions, Morfisi Tempering among them.”

Morven passed Lorenz a heavy, navy volume crossed with geometric etching. He opened it, the inside cover luxuriantly marbled in gold and green, with a nameplate who’s previous owner had been scribbled from the book’s memory. Likely stolen to be resold- and not for a bargain. Books like these were heirlooms, made to last a century; for a moment Lorenz forgot it was being given by Morven: a man who had only moments earlier indirectly titled himself a ‘Pretender.’ He suppressed his awe for disappointment.

“Why should I believe you did not simply forge this book as well?” He offered it back with remorse.

“Then you will have crossed the line from reasonable suspicion to paranoia. It is a gift, do with it what you will.” Morven again avoided any admittance, declining to take the book back. He rose from his seat and left the library with a polite nod.

As soon as he was out of the room, Lorenz could not contain himself. He opened the book to run his hands lovingly over the marbling: _such an overlooked refinement, not on open display like fine ceramic painting, but hidden away to be admired by one reader at a time. More intimate and more rich than the soft flowers that adorn lacy cups. _

The ink scribbling over the nameplate was so thick, it protruded roughly from the paper. Lorenz wondered who such a fine book was stolen from; and how to return it as soon as he was finished. The tail of what could only be an s remained, and the pointed apex of some indiscernible capital letter. He chipped at the ink to no avail; it only tore the paper slightly, and so he gave up for fear of damaging it more.

_Ah, I may be able to ask the shopkeep of the bookstore nearby… A pitiful loss for the owner._

Part of him wanted to pitch the book out in spite, but it was too cruel a fate for such an innocent tome, and petty treatment for a gift.

_Gift. I must find a gift for Claude... though I loathe to consider him just now, his birthday is in two weeks._ Lorenz removed the Deer Key from his pocket, turning it over while running his hand over the book cover. He remained in such thought for only a few minutes, before he concluded the perfect gift was already in his possession.


	42. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

Morven left the library, only mildly satisfied. The book he had given was not easy to obtain, and one of his own personal library; he did not mind Lorenz keeping it, but he had hoped it would bridge their gap a bit more for it's value.

He was sure Lorenz could not resist the book- would not burn it or abandon it- but that Lorenz could resist him was disappointing. Morven could not truly expect him to be any less prideful, but it would have been a welcome surprise if Lorenz would invite him again to be friendly allies. _Nothing to forgive, he says, yet despises me all the same. I could force him… But … No, that isn’t what I want._

The walk to the Duke’s relocated quarters was lengthy. Duke Riegan decided to sequester himself in a fringe suite, so that his coughing, when uncontrollable, could not be heard by lower rank staff. When Morven visited him before the library, he had been weakly. Now he could be heard on approach. Cassiopeia and Gavin flanked his door, looking disturbed at the sound.

“You have returned. I do not know where you believed it was more important to be, but the Duke should be your priority.” Cassiopeia said with distaste. Gavin nodded across from her, worried instead of reproachful.

“Your opinion is unneeded.” Morven brushed her scold aside. When he reached the door, Cassiopeia stopped him with an arm across his chest.

“He has a visitor.”

“No one important.”

“Voicing your own superfluous opinions now?”

“Superfluous. Not untrue.” He listened between the retching sounds. It was Lalia speaking to him, but her words could not be deciphered; he only knew she was withdrawn and worried. “Let me in so I can aid him.”

“He says no one goes in.”

“He did not mean _me_.” Morven opened the door, rejecting her blockade. Cassiopeia scoffed in protest as he pushed through her arm, but she did not escalate her resistance.

The diminutive room was low lit, the couches drab and torn. It seemed more of a storage room that only happened to contain a bedroom suite; the Duke had not bothered to renovate for his stay.

Lalia startled, then settled on disappointment when realizing Morven had interrupted them.

“Duke, I would remain with you moment to moment if it meant you would leave this broom closet.” Morven greeted him, as the Duke huffed in a chair which dire needed reupholstering for all it’s mystery stains.

“This is plenty for an old man. Come. Lalia and I are HRRGAGGH!”

Lalia stood, though she could do no more than the White Mages already present. They moved toward him, each placing hands on his chest to blindly relieve the unknown ailment. 

Morven crossed the room calmly, cupping a hand around the base of the Duke’s head, just above his neck. Grey light poured forth from his hand. It did not scatter into a mist like the white light from healing magic, but cascaded down into nothingness, a waterfall over his shoulders. It looked gruesome, sinister in its drab, deathly hues. Yet the Duke recovered from his fit. He still struggled to regain his breath, but the telltale wheezing of another fit coming had stopped entirely.

Lalia had never seen such magic, but it seemed foul: some perversion of healing that was too good to be true. That _Morven_ was using the unknown magic, and had concealed his abilities, was most disconcerting.

“What was that Morven?” She demanded without reserve.

“Never mind, I can speak now.” The Duke dismissed her questions. Morven withdrew his hand, but seemed to concentrate on the Duke still, his gloved palm open beside him. “Lalia, you may tell Lorenz whatever you like. I appreciate your asking me, however symbolic and unnecessary it was.”

“You have been my friend for many years, Oswald. Your well laid plans are coming to a conclusion; I did not want to spoil that for sentiment.” 

There was something left unspoken; Morven could feel it. A gravity entered the room which unbalanced him, hearing Lalia refer to the Duke by his first name. When she stopped worrying over the Duke and resettled, he noted her posture was no longer one of deference. He knew she was a Riegan spy, but he considered now he was woefully under informed otherwise. 

“I trust you will impose on Lorenz that he maintain a level head with this new information. Now, though, I need you to be on good terms with Morven for the our business at the Estate. This nonsense with the children must end.”

“It has nothing to do with Claude or Lorenz. I refuse to trust him for myriad reasons, Duke Riegan, now more than ever. What has he done to you?” She asked again. Morven noted she referred to Claude and Lorenz without title. He felt suddenly ill to be in her bad graces. 

“Morven and I have an agreement; his peculiar magic is not mine to reveal. Let it alone.”

“So long as you assure me you have not misgiven your trust in your old age.”

“You know I am more sly than that.” She relaxed some at his confidence. She studied Morven for a moment.

“I think the coming purge is evidence enough of that claim.” Morven offered weakly. 

Lalia sighed heavily; she had to agree, the Duke was still both wary and cunning. This final stunt would remind the Alliance- and the Empire- that the Riegans were not to be underestimated. It should remind them also that Claude was very much of the same mindset: and he was young a reckless enough to put it to use en force. Edelgard should take notice especially; the self-titled ‘Empress of Fodlan’ who Lalia was aware had consistently failed in Academy battles. By the Empire’s battlefield tactics she had observed, Edelgard knew only how to overwhelm with force, fear, and numbers. Her power was not her own, but that of the red mages. 

The Duke held all his reigns, using his resources with careful discrimination. “An even hand” he called it. That alone put him in control of this war- everyone had simply forgotten due in part to his present outward appearance and the discord he tolerated in broader Leicester.

But Lalia remembered him when he gained his title. She still saw the same man underneath the years. 

If he could outlive the war, she would not worry so. 

  


* * *

  


When he was not in his room, Lalia knew where to find Lorenz… taking into account the earlier drama involving Claude and Hilda that had reached her by the servants whispers. She entered the library, and for a moment he did not look up from the large book cradled in his arms. A look of fascination, one he had long lost, painted his face. For a moment she enjoyed it: buried in a book, at ease and enthralled was a look that suited him.

When she cleared her throat, he snapped the book shut, blushing.

“Lorenz? Are you alright?”

“Fine enough. The day has been long.” Lorenz answered, glancing away briefly. He tucked the book under his arm, as if to hide it. “Are you ready to explain what Claude was insinuating earlier?”

“Yes, let us talk in your room.”

Lorenz lead the way, up a flight of stairs and around a few corners to reach his suite. He was surprised to find his room lit already, tea waiting. _Of course she would. So attentive._ He tried to relax, but felt that their conversation would be less casual than he would like. The last outcome he wanted was to see Lalia into militia custody while he was out of sorts with her.

They settled around the tea table awkwardly. After Lorenz poured them each a cup, they took a moment to drink without rush. 

Lalia began speaking at last after the tea had cooled.

“I should start by saying this is not something I find difficult to tell you- it was difficult not to tell you. I have wanted to do so many times; you are not deserving of any deception.”

“Deception? Lalia, tread carefully. There are some things I would remain ignorant of if they would spoil our relationship.” He circled a finger on the arm of his chair. “I might rather maintain this comfort than to be made the wiser.”

“You are ready for this; ultimately, it changes nothing. It should be made clear, first, that I am now- and until we agree to part- your maid and retainer. I like to think I am your family otherwise.”

“I like to think so too, Lalia...” Lorenz said the words, but was worried they may come across as insincere. “Though, I feel I have perhaps grown distant with the current events. I consider sometimes, maybe I never even fully recovered after the incident… the one when I was fourteen… with the other maid. I have been acting more as your Lord than anything since that time.” He leaned into his hand. _I did not expect the conversation to take such a turn. I thought I had come to terms with that._

“I do not take it personally. You call it being distant; it is simply growing up and assuming your position. But that will change now too.”

“Just say it then, whatever you mean.” His became nervous, his posture turning inward. He crossed his arms, facing away so slightly.

“I am a spy for House Riegan. I was sent to monitor you when you were five; the Duke’s daughter missing and his son being adamantly opposed to marrying a woman and producing heirs, he saw the Riegan line at an end. I do not think it was ever intended that I raise you so closely but… that is what occurred. The Duke recalled me once, when you were eight: we had a five year plan and he wanted to abandon it. I did not sever ties with House Riegan, but I did refuse to leave.” She stopped abruptly, realizing Lorenz might have questions.

Lorenz was usually too reserved to display his shock, but now his mouth remained as wide as his eyes for some moments. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers to consider Lalia’s admission. 

“You stayed for _me_?”

“… Is that really what you gathered from everything I just said?”

“It is what is important.”

“Yes, I stayed for you. You were like my little brother. I would have taken you immediately to House Riegan if I could.”

“… What were the Duke’s intentions? It sounds too… too…” He could call it reserved, but he did not need to mince words with Lalia. “… Did he intend to have me killed?”

“I do not kill children.” She put the matter to rest.

“But if I grew into a petulant and problematic adult-”

“No. The Duke was always concerned with the future of the Alliance: with peace and equanimity. He saw a future with no Heirs, Godfrey himself being disinterested in his role. Imagine Claude without the drive, no vision.”

“Deplorable.”

“Yes. With your mother passing away, and your father making dangerous political moves that _should_ have seen him assassinated, it would not have been out of place for you to be adopted into House Riegan.”

Lorenz could not accept this to be the truth. It was so absurd, he thought perhaps this entire conversation was a joke.

“Not out of place? The Gloucester’s are a powerful house! My particular line may have winnowed down to me alone, but I have aunts and uncles, cousins older and younger! Why would my family not take me? Such a plan is ludicrous!”

“How much time did you spend, growing up, with your extended family?” She would know better than him.

“You know it was so little, my father-”

“-Alienated them. They barely knew you; it would be no matter to have you killed, for their own line to usurp the Count’s place at the Roundtable.”

This struck Lorenz harder than Lalia’s admission that she was a spy for the Duke. Worse was that it was not an undue accusation; while he took pride in his name, and some noble fantasy of what the House once was, the Gloucester’s he knew to be his family all had contemptible reputations… but it all remained hearsay: never with enough evidence for the Council dispossess them of the county. Never enough to merit challenging the second most powerful House, launching a civil war.

“The Duke knew this much from his own prior intel; to him, you were a potential adoptee with a crest and a respected lineage: half of the Alliance, even then, took preference to Count Gloucester. If you became the Heir after Godfrey, he might secure the divided preference and bring the Leicester Alliance into a new age of unification... If you were raised properly. And if you weren’t adopted- if House Gloucester came to power under your name when the Riegan’s withered- it ensured you would be the best choice.”

Lorenz leaned back into his chair. It was no wonder now that Lalia had so often encouraged him to consider his Father’s demands and wishes critically; to review drafts of the Count’s policies from all angles instead of only accounting for the benefit to House Gloucester. She brought him books, he read them, without consideration to the contents: because Lalia always provided the most interesting topics. She tried to train him in throwing knives and white magic even- to no avail.

He had been groomed to become a _good_ person, in opposition to his father’s own self-serving prejudices.

“I suppose House Riegan 'adopted' me in the end.” He laughed quietly.

Lalia was put off at first, but it was a healthy a reaction as he could have. Then he turned morose.

“… But you are going to leave me this time. They are putting you away for trial.” He said, resigned. “I am worried you will not return from it.”

“Come now. They are going to make a show of me being detained, and send me back to the Riegan Estate to walk around freely while I aid the Duke with his plans.”

“That is some comfort. I will be alone for some weeks, then?”

“No- the Duke is going to expedite my trial. It is to be held in one week: Monday.”

“A relief- I suppose he could not leave his own spy to languish. But knowing you do not have my back during such a time will be discomforting.”

“I have asked that the Duke send Cassiopeia with you when you leave the grounds. Please make sure to keep someone with you at all times.” She let her maid’s conduct break, showing concern for Lorenz’s safety. “Do not become arrogant and rush off without guards.”

“Not after the attack yesterday. That reminds me…_ I am so dreadfully tired._ Will you sleep here tonight? I want to be sure to see you off to your ‘captors’ in the morning. I want to be right beside you.” Lorenz leaned over the table, taking her hand. She smiled, tired herself and irritable from the mess of politics that would separate her from Lorenz.

“I would like that very much. Let us have dinner, then we will retire.” 


	43. First Night's Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

The First Night’s Feast was a tradition Claude enjoyed, but saw it ripe for under-table politics and passing judgment. Every chair in the dining hall was filled. It was the only point that joined the Riegan Apartments to the Hall, inside or out: an insulation against guests with dubious intentions. Citizens of every caliber were invited to the apartments, but most who accepted the lodging were lower Lords or merchants up and coming who did not hold their own abode in the city… and anyone who hoped for the opportunity to impress the Duke or meet with him outside of the Roundtable.

They would all be disappointed tonight, as all were insulated from the Duke’s attention at the head of the table by Lysithea and her informal retinue. She took the seat of honor at the Duke’s right, Claude on his left. Catherine, Shamir, and Cyril joined her along the table’s length. Claude was relieved that Lorenz chose to take his dinner in the Hall, alone with Lalia; it was unlikely Lorenz could keep up the distant act for so long with the finer wines being uncorked and flowing generously. For a moment Claude returned to the morning’s Roundtable, Lorenz’s advances and the meeting room. Before he could full imagine an intoxicated Lorenz running his fingers on him beneath the table cloth, Lysithea began talking.

"What a relief to be around sensible people." Lysithea shook her head. "I've been talking over stupid Lords all evening who are more worried about their profits than their homes. I'm supposed to vote in their interests?" She spoke a little too loudly, and myriad guests turned their ears on her.

"That's some announcement." Claude laughed, trying to deftly remind her that everyone listened. She was clever enough to understand, but not concerned enough to adjust her tone.

"Sorry, I just had to get that off of my chest. I'm glad I only have to do this for three days. I can't manage such irrational, inflated egos. Well, I can, but it's honestly a waste of my time." Eyes widened in earshot, and people began whispering to themselves. Claude tried to motion her to cut it out, but the Duke followed her lead enthusiastically: confident enough in his position to bolster her criticism.

"Ahaha! Less than six hours in a seat of power, and you already have the gist of it. A waste of time, all of it, a majority of it sorting between petty vanities." She blushed slightly, realizing suddenly she was complaining like a child in the hall of the Duke of all of the Leicester Alliance.

They were interrupted by a host of servants arriving from the kitchens, setting the table before them the first course of many lavish dishes. 

"Pardon me, Duke Riegan, I'm being ungrateful. Thank you again for supporting my provision, and for hosting us." She bowed as much as she could from her seat, where she still sat rather low despite having grown another inch or more.

"With that presentation, I had no choice but to agree. I am loathe to admit that a Young Lady did all of the work for me."

"I didn't want to put you in a compromised position; your reputation is far more important than my votes, but it's a matter of principle." The Duke inclined his head, raising his glass.

"Few could have faulted me even if you had been less tactful; you are a force the Lords do not take lightly, and I believe tomorrow's Roundtable will accommodate a new urgency." He paused, looking to Claude. "If you ever find yourself to be in this young Lady's poorer opinion, I suggest you surrender."

"I wouldn't be stupid enough to get there in the first place." He winked at Lysithea. She smiled, then leaned in closer to the Duke, lowering her voice at last.

"I really hoped you could use my argument to your advantage to depose other Lords who were Empire aligned- but in hindsight, I realize that was far too much to hope for."

"The idealizations of youth are never unwelcome. I must thank you for the opportunity.... However, Lady Lysithea, how is it that you are sure_ I_ am not Empire aligned? I have taken great strides to remain neutral, and I am sure you do not have the network to confirm otherwise."

"It doesn't matter what you are." She said confidently. Even her softened tone of voice was resolute with surety. "I know Claude better, and if you were that corrupted, _you wouldn't be here anymore_." She referred to the Duke's assassination by his own heir without fanfare.

The Duke only raised his eyebrows. He turned to his grandson:

"Is that so, Claude?"

"Hah, uh, that's quite the accusation Lysithea." He tried to turn the comment back on her; the Duke always knew when he was lying, so he would avoid discussing the contingency plans he was never forced to put into play.

"It’s an assessment. But I'm not wrong."

“It’s bad politics to make controversial ‘assessments’ public.” Claude warned, trying to intimidate her… but it was impossible. Lysithea could growl like a wolf, and still demand all of the dismissal of a puppy: too unassuming to be upset with. A deadly combination, Claude realized. The Duke accepted her macabre comment with amusement.

"It is just as well, if I became so infirm to trade independence to a dictator for my own comfort, I would be ready to meet my end." He laughed, then turning sinister. "But I must warn that if you underestimate the other Lords as you do me, you will each find yourself at your own bitter and unfortunate end."

Lysithea paled: she reassessed her confidence in disclosing such a brazen plot; especially when she was revealing the intentions of an ally. Claude was taken aback by the Duke’s ability to cow her. _But it’s a skill I need. I can’t write off anyone- even a former classmate. He’s absolutely right- it could be the death of us._

They returned thoughtfully to their plates before retiring to a private sitting room within the hall.

  
* * *

“Cyril, stop dusting the mantle.” Shamir took him by the shoulders, sitting him down in a chair in the back of the room. 

The sitting room _was_ a little dusty for Claude’s liking, but it was more insulated, sitting at the back of the Hall with no windows, no secret entrances or exits to listen through. He brought along one of his higher order maids, waiting to share her report with Lysithea. After she tested the tea herself, meeting with Claude’s approval, she whispered in his ear for a moment. He nodded, and waved her away with a muttered 'later.'

“Where’s Lorenz?” Lysithea asked while Claude poured her tea.

“He’s in his room, with his retainer. She’s leaving in the morning, and he’s pretty tore up about it.”

“He’s always so dramatic! This is not time to be wallowing in sentiment." She scowled into her cup. "This retainer must be pretty special: let me guess, he’s in _love_ with her?”

“You need to work on that condescending attitude, kid.” Catherine slurred from the couch. She was sauced, now leaning heavily on an irritated Shamir. Lysithea started to protest the ‘kid’ tacked onto the end of her admonish, but thought better of it.

“That _was_ a little harsh. I’m sorry... Is that the maid that Count Gloucester tried to arrest?”

“You heard about that? Sure is; they're busy making plans for the scandal. But don’t apologize to me; you’re right on the mark. She’s like his family: he does love her.”

“Don’t go out of your way to make me feel worse about it! I was hoping to talk to him about his plans for his father. Maybe putting our heads together, we can come up with something I missed before.”

Claude leaned forward, intrigued.

“You think there might still be a way to depose Count Gloucester? Legally?”

“Probably not. But I think there is a way we can control him. I would need to talk to Lorenz first though; I don’t know enough about the Count.”

“I’ll make sure he comes tomorrow night. For now, we talk about the Houses that are lining up to take up Ordelia’s position.” Claude motioned to the maid again, who waited in the back of the room; she handed him a small scroll reporting what Houses were observed making moves to petition the Roundtable in the prior months. “Everlionne, the obvious choice. Not the Duke’s choice. A few of the other Ordelia Major Lords.”

“Only Everlionne is prepared to take responsibility; none of the other Houses are accountable.” Lysithea dismissed the others swiftly.

“Who else… Pascal? Not possible.”

“Where is House Pascal?”

“On the border of Ordelia and Gloucester; Probably a puppet of Count’s. There are so many minor Lords here… wait, Morley?” He had been monitoring Morley as a power that was too-close-to-home, and it made sense that he would make a move for one of the Great Lord seats… but it was the first he heard of official confirmation. Claude turned to the maid.

“Is that the report from Alvina?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“When did it come?”

“During dinner, private, word of mouth only.” Claude nodded for her to continue in their mixed company. “She still struggles to gather material evidence, but Morley’s conversations have suggested that the bank is much larger than it seems. Physically larger, as well as in economic reach. His wealth as well. She found a ledger listing former mercenary bands conscripted to a newly formed Militia under Morley’s name, but without head count. We are trying to gather the numbers of the former mercenary bands now.”

“Damn. I thought it was a joke when I saw his name.”

“Morley, the banker? Seems a lot of trouble to move to Ordelia when he’s already successful in central Derdriu. Doesn't seem very strategic.”

“Hmm… If he’s empire aligned, they could help him more if he was in Ordelia. But that’s just a guess: we don’t have anything linking him to the Empire but a hunch. He might be wealthy, but a powerful bank will never offer the same political maneuverability that governing land does. And he is paranoid about maintaining power. The more you have the less chance it can be taken.” Claude considered his obsession with crests: it did not require much speculation to say he desired any manner of security he could gain through any power grabs he could manage.

“I’ll never understand why people go out of their way to make more work for themselves.” Lysithea sighed. She tilted her head with resignation. “Like _some_ present company. Cyril, really?”

The maid at the back of the room had offered him a duster, and together they were quietly making the room presentable.

“I’m just helpin out. No harm in that- it’s my thanks for the room and the food.”

“I guess.” Lysithea returned her attention to Claude. “Anyone else?”

“There is another House, a sort of Dark Horse. We’re assuming Lord Adalius Benettos plans a bid; but have no way to verify his means or methods. Do you know anything about their House?” It was a stretch, but considering Lysithea’s practice of magic, there was a chance their siren song for power had spread to other gifted mages in the same way it had to Lorenz.

“In passing. I know they are red mages, but nothing else.”

Claude summed up Lorenz’s run-in with the chilling family. Her eyes widened when he detailed the transfer of a crests at the wake of Lord Marco.

“They can remove crests?” She said it evenly, but her pupils flared in fascination. The sudden interest unsettled Claude.

“From corpses. They can steal crests after killing someone.” His gruesome description did not seem to dissuade her. “They transferred the crest from a _dead_ man.” He reiterated.

“But if it can be done from corpses, maybe in time it can be done for living people.”

“Lysithea, why would anyone want that? Crests give power. Having that taken away would ruin their House… unless that’s what you want?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! And it’s _none of your business, _either!” She snapped, before setting her teacup down and storming out of the room. Cyril watched her; seeing that Shamir was trapped by a now sleeping, heavily armored Catherine, he went after Lysithea himself.

“I’ll bring her back, don’t worry!”

“It’s fine…” the words hardly left his mouth before Cyril was gone. He sighed, turning to Shamir. “… I don’t think she wants to talk anymore. You need help?”

“No. I know where our room is.” She lifted Catherine across her shoulders. “I just pretended to be stuck so Cyril would go after her. I’m tired.”

Alone with his maid and his thoughts, Claude wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.

_This isn’t some passing curiosity. She wants that power. I _did_ mess up._


	44. Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

_Thwock!_

The training ground at Riegan Hall was empty, most preferring to spend the morning preparing for the Roundtable’s second day, Domestic Affairs, where the real issues would come to light.

_Thwock!_

At just after 8 am, the sun had yet to reach through the open ceiling to light the grounds; still early enough to be cool for a summer morning. The lanterns were unlit, the cast shadow painting the walls and targets in soft greys. Only Failnought glowing softly on a nearby bench.

_Thwock!_

The sound of one bullseye after another helped Claude feel prepared, calm; but it was never the same when the targets were people. When opposing humans became nothing more than the openings in their armor. 

_Thwock!_

At times, he wondered why the bullseye couldn’t be some other color; not red. But maybe that was the point: not simply to draw attention: to signify drawn blood. Each arrow lodged in the center of their mark no longer felt like success. 

Claude lowered his bow, his quiver spent of arrows, counting the deaths: ten. He bowed his head to pray. Not to the Goddess, or anyone really. It felt like he was asking the people for forgiveness: something he had picked up after the last battle at Garreg Mach. Humility was part of training too, he had decided. 

Familiar footfalls interrupted him. When he turned to find Lorenz, the mask was back on: mourning wasn’t very becoming a leader. Lorenz, like everyone, needed him to be the same optimistic support. Undiminished like the sun. 

“That was a spectacle.” Claude commented on Lalia’s ‘arrest,’ as he slung his bow over his shoulder. She had been taken, early, at the witness of several double agents who could relay her arrest to greater Derdriu. 

“It was surreal to see her being taken with her hands tied so loosely, and back to The Riegan Estate. It’s almost laughable. Still.” Lorenz gathered a spare lance and whetstone. Finding a place next to Failnought, He absently passed the blade over the stone, to keep his hands busy while Claude gathered his arrows. He began another volley, practicing close, difficult angles with a miniature bow. 

Lorenz let his mind wander over the details of Lalia’s double agency, the bizarre arrangement the Duke made to spirit him away, how he would get on without her for a week. The even and practiced _Thwock!_ Of the arrows was comforting. He shook the useless thoughts from his head; considering them any longer would only keep him distracted and solve nothing.

Claude had invited him earlier to dispense with his nervous energy, the disquiet left over after being separated from Lalia. Lorenz joined him at the training grounds more specifically to discuss his meeting with Lord Adalius: his motives, his demands, and if they could assess any accurate threat. Claude finished another round, approaching Lorenz where he waited.

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine. We must discuss the Benettos.”

“Right.”

Lorenz wearily summed up Adalius’ unnerving confidence; that he held enough power to lay bare family secrets and eradicate Lorenz should he reveal them unduly. How he was almost benevolent, claiming to have some standards: lines he and other Benettos would not cross. His shared their disdain for the Empire, insinuating he may be willing to offer aid. He detailed Claude being another target of theirs. His report lacked energy; Lorenz remained reserved, indifferent now to what had been so harrowing the day before.

"... He offered me a life without the burden of heirs, crests, or power. They know when it is suitable to offer power, and when it is more tantalizing to remove it's burden. More cunning than I had hoped. They could convince anyone." He finished without flare.

Claude remained visibly irritated from the mention of Amory Benettos and marriage, even after Lorenz made it clear the idea was dismissed. When he realized Lorenz was done speaking, he answered at a delay.

"They didn't convince you."

"Of course not! But how far would you go, Claude? For their power? Their allyship? You have made it clear you have no reservations about underhanded methods... The Benettos are terrifying, uncouth, but they are not evil in the same sense as the Empire's own allied blood mages. How far are we willing to bend our sense of ethics for their aid? To defeat Edelgard?" He asked, hopelessly.

“Now that you ask… I would have to talk to him myself.” Claude stared into the distance for a moment. “No, forget that. You can be my reigns on this one. I don’t know what I might consider ‘acceptable’ after hearing about the way Edel invaded the Kingdom. What her mages and monsters are like. And I don’t know anything about magic.”

“Precisely. He does not seem like he intends to contact you directly. If he does though, I beg you make no decisions without me.”

“I won’t.”

The conversation was surprisingly cut and dry; many of their political exchanges were passing with such easy agreement. Lorenz was mildly disappointed Claude did not argue more… but he could reserve such teasing for more banal matters. 

Claude took a moment to retrieve his arrows. The minibow was excellent, but Failnought hummed on the bench: like it wanted to be used._ It’s been on the wall for almost a decade. Maybe it’s restless._ He found himself thinking of the bow as more of a pet- like a wyvern. Amiable under the right conditions, but all tooth and claw. Dangerous.

“I almost forgot, was your meeting with Judith successful?” Lorenz distracted him, finished sharpening the lance. He was sure he wore away more precious blade than necessary.

“Yep- but she wants to send the girls back to Daphnel early, to throw off any pursuers. She thinks Lord Morley will also be distracted. So, you’ll need to tell Jericho to expect us at any time. I contracted Leonie and some of her fellow mercenaries to be Dina and Gala’s personal guard.”

“Is Leonie not a bit reckless?” 

“Nah, she’s adaptable. Plus, we know her: a guard against any traitors in Daphnel’s ranks.”

“You believe even the Daphnel ranks are compromised?”

“If we were attacked on Riegan land, anyone could be anywhere. No chances.”

“Of course; I was being naive.” Lorenz answered absently. An uneasy gap spread in their halting conversation. He took up Thyrsus, staring into the crest stone, as Claude crossed the grounds to retrieve Failnought. He pulled the string, then eased it back into place several times, testing its pull weight. It was surprisingly light; not indicative of it’s legendary power.

“That monstrosity will cleave through the targets.” Lorenz warned.

“Yeah… But maybe if I just shoot one. There’s nothing behind the training grounds.”

“There is an entire city behind the Estate grounds; I would not.”

Claude looked over it, considering the possibility that it might punch through a target and two heavy, stone walls. It would take all his concentration, crest power, and several genuine years to make control of such power… but it was entirely possible it could do so by its own will. He set Failnought back down.

“How have you managed, carrying a divine relic?” Lorenz asked.

“… Not what I expected. It’s… moody?”

“Curious. I feel the same about Thyrsus, and Hilda mentioned much the same of Freikugel when we were in the Academy.” They both looked away reflexively when Hilda was mentioned.

“That’s annoying. I thought the feeling would wear off or go away.”

“Yes, well, such jealousies are persistent by nature.”

“… I was talking about Failnought.”

“Oh.” Lorenz turned Thyrsus around in his hands while he studied the worn handle. “My mistake.”

They sat for a moment, waiting for the discomfort to pass. It persisted; Claude took Thyrsus from Lorenz and set it against the wall, to gain his full attention. He took up Lorenz’s now empty hands, bringing them to his mouth to run his lips over his fingers. This time Lorenz did not flinch or pull away. He even seemed to soften slightly at the gesture. 

“You apologized to me yesterday, kinda, and I’ve been trying to think of a way to apologize ever since.”

“Apologize for what?”

“Hilda. _Morven_.”

“Those trivial matters? I thought I settled it yesterday.”

“Telling me to pick Hilda isn’t settling it.” Claude turned on Lorenz now, too close. The thin, gray air of the abandoned training ground made him feel closer still. “What does that even mean, Lorenz? Do you think that little of yourself?”

“Hardly; I am unequaled of course by mortal men, but noble women are a matter of divinity. She is clearly the superior match for the Leader of the Alliance, for reasons that should not need explaining.”

“You’re so uptight. Match. Leader. I’m talking about today and tomorrow, next week and maybe next month.” Claude was being earnest, but saw a chance to liven the conversation. “But I get it. _You_ would choose Hilda over me, and that’s_ fine_-

“One Moment! Perhaps choose is the wrong word-” Lorenz began to explain, affronted that Claude was so clearly on the mark. All at once, but only fleeting, he considered that he might prefer both their companionship- it would, in fact, be impossible to choose without the surrounding detritus of their roles. But that option was ludicrous to consider. “-certainly not a preference for company- but you understand- the way things are- the conflicts and-”

Watching Lorenz scramble for excuses made him feel a little bit better, but he wouldn’t make him suffer. 

“Stop. Stop. We keep having this conversation.”

“I thought that is why we agreed to leave it!” Lorenz said with distress.

“And I really mean to. But. I’m sorry for upsetting you, now and against my future stupidity. Whatever that looks like, I never really mean it… and Hilda might have mentioned that… I overreacted to Morven and… you… so that too.” He sounded loathe to admit it, pausing intermittently so he might not have to utter both Morven’s name and an apology in the same breath. Lorenz settled back against the wall, relieved. 

“Ah. That is all you were trying to get at.” He sat up straight once more, positioned to lecture. “I accept, of course. But I expect to at minimum learn from your mistakes; an apology in advance will not defer my ire if you continue to fumble the same situations time and again.”

“Petty way to accept an apology, but that’s fair I guess.” Claude pulled Lorenz across the bench, side wise, by his hip to brace against him. “Now let’s make up.”

“Hmph.” Lorenz tried to seem petulant, reluctant at the suggestion… but he never managed to translate it into his disposition. “Again? Have we not _reconciled_ enough in the past days?”

“We have a lot of lost time to make up for. Besides, this is gonna be a hard week- I don’t think I can get enough _reconciliation_ in to offset the stress.” Claude pulled one of Lorenz’s wrists to drape over his shoulder, then the other, before pulling one of his legs onto his lap.

“Above the waist; we do not have as much time as you think.” Lorenz seized one of Claude’s hands where it wandered on his thigh.

“I’m quick.”

“You are careless; I am a _treasure_. You handle me too eagerly.” He chuckled arrogantly, leaning away to tease him. “I have seen those hands snap a bow in half in their impatience.”

“That was a training bow; and it was rotted-”

“Content yourself with my lips or unhand me.” He cut his eyes toward the exit dramatically.

Claude relented only slightly, moving his hands as he was commanded to _just_ above the waist and no more. He lunged for Lorenz’s mouth, and was met with the same eagerness that only moments ago was decried. Claude was overwhelmed still with Lorenz responding in kind, willing… and maybe just a taste of the same desperation. He pulled Lorenz’s waist in by his jacket, before lifting Lorenz’s leg so that he could position himself between his legs instead.

Lorenz entertained his sloppy manners for minutes, before pulling away for breath. When regained, he pulled his shoulders back, rolling and dropping them to ease his tension. He eyed Claude when he finished, pulling against his neck. He was forced to chase Lorenz with his kisses, as he continued to pull away, humming with a sort of amused pleasure each time he made a gap for Claude to close. Lorenz opened his mouth politely each time, just enough to rouse him more, before drawing his lips off of Claude’s tongue to lure him further. 

Claude pressed with his shoulders, his body further until he had to wrap his arms around Lorenz to keep himself up. Now he could not pull away, relenting at last to his capture. Claude opened his eyes briefly, suddenly, inexplicably hungry to see Lorenz in the morning light. 

The fringes of Lorenz’s hair caressed the bench where it fell between his fingers. Something was very miraculous about the violet hair Claude could see from the corner of his eye; the patchy blush on his ears, bright red even in the dawn light; or the way Lorenz’s eyes rolled under his eyelids, making his lashes ripple against his cheek: it seemed no moment so real had ever passed before. The short breaths and slide of fabric, the shifting and creaking of the bench became surreal sounds of a fantasy, background noise so unparalleled by any opera. Chills started in behind his ears, rolling over his shoulders and down his arms. 

The clock in the center of the city began to ring the eighth hour of the morning. Neither would let up or let loose; indulging between each chime an attempted retreat, before falling again into one _more_, this _last_ time, another taste: until the chimes had all counted and they were borrowing against dangerously uncounted minutes. 

They pulled off all at once, turning away to distract themselves each with their relics, distinctly ignoring one another to avoid relapse.

When Claude stood, Lorenz commented, softly, as if speaking of daily chores:

“The Deer Key. It would be prudent to ensure it works in the new lock.”

“I guess it would. Whenever you find the time.” He answered casually. 

The Roundtable would begin in one hour.


	45. Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

The lobby of the council hall was brimming, the line to the main hall engulfing the grand stairway. Today there were droves of minor house Heirs, who were not present the day before: dragged from their idle luxuriant lifestyles by Lordly parents. Seeing Lysithea so expertly take up her father’s position no doubt shamed those whose own heirs were wholly absent. Lorenz had met half of them in passing; of course they each dedicated a special place in their memory for the heir to the second most powerful house of the Alliance. They each had the advantage on him for familiarity; he far outmatched them for conduct.

“I will not speak ill of the House that has so graciously hosted me; it would be unbecoming.” Lorenz leaned around, surveying the Council Hall Lobby as if searching for eavesdroppers. Lords and Ladies, more or less his own age, gathered around him, pressing for gossip. “Although…”

“What is it, Lorenz? Does _he_ build bonfires in the halls and dance around them like the sand eaters?” Half of the crowd laughed rapturously, the rest smiled, compliant to the tasteless joke.

For the graceless language alone, Lorenz was tempted not to indulge any of them. He did not despise them for being molded by minor houses who saw so little of politics or influence, or _class_, but the boy who asked was particularly nasty in language.

“We are speaking of The Riegan Estate, and the heir to the alliance; not some minor, Lord-by-happenstance clinging to a waning fortune. Like Mannerly Hall. I have heard they shut down every wing of their house in winter, burning their own furniture in the foyer to keep warm.” Lorenz feigned ignorance of the boy’s name and house to turn the accusation of barbarity back onto him. The boy turned red in the face; Lorenz decided on a more tasteful insult of Claude. “No, it is a more petty matter… I simply cannot stand the way Claude chews when he eats. Like a bandit, hardly shutting his mouth.”

The false contempt left his mouth stale, but it was part of the ploy. The group laughed politely among themselves. The boy fled the crowd at last. _Ah, tragedy: I have lost a dear ally._

“Gross! Oh, it must be so _hard_ for you in the Riegan Estate, Lorenz.” The plainest woman among them commiserated. Lorenz pitied that she might be beautiful without the desperation to impress him. “Why did you end up there anyway? Why are you not staying in Gloucester Hall with your father?” Her intent was innocent enough, but it was a tricky answer. She was, at least, well practiced at the art of attractively superfluous movements: the careful exposure of her neck and the position of her fingers. She was doing her best, and Lorenz felt some sad affection for her attempts. He answered her kindly. 

“You may have heard I arrived in Derdriu after some plot on my life was revealed; but no, it was merely a falling out… You know how parent’s become, facing their own mortality makes them paranoid. I was invited to the Riegan Estate as a courtesy; no doubt The Duke believing my allegiances to be weakened.” It was his first public statement about his departure from House Gloucester. He cleared it with Claude and Lalia some week ago in passing. “And I suppose the Duke intends to try and build some modicum of trust between the Gloucester’s and Riegan’s before Claude takes up the mantle. I cannot criticize the Duke’s leadership: all men become sentimental in their old age. Which is fortunate for me; I do wish to be the more humble party in our centuries long rivalry, if only for the Alliance’s sake. It is only proper for me to be accommodating to the Duke’s noble intention.”

“But what about Claude? I thought he invited you?” Someone chimed in.

“I heard he was visiting Gloucester Hall before that.” 

“They rode into Derdriu together! Both on the same wyvern!”

_That is why they all cornered me._ Even rushed from their respective counties overnight, coming into the city only in the past hours, many of them had already absorbed all of the hearsay concerning the seeming alliance between Claude and Lorenz. _Maybe more._ Lorenz wondered. _We have been discreet enough, but the more dubious Riegan servants get around._

“Of course we have been working together closely. An attempt to build amiable ties. However…” He sighed with burdened resignation for effect. “Claude has some radical ideas. Few I can agree with… I do hope I can act as an adviser in some capacity; someday, it undoubtedly will fall on me to guide him in Alliance matters.” He placed a strategic palm to his forehead. “It is more likely that I might even take his place when one of his schemes falls through, his support crumbling with it. But rest assured: I am prepared enough for the two of us.”

This was all of the disdain toward Claude he was willing to effectuate to such a large gathering. If one of them found him privately, he might speak harsher rebukes that he could deny later. He would need to speak even more cruelly of him if there were any rumors circulating of intimacy.

“What about the wyvern?” A delicate voice pressed.

“That is a touch embarrassing to admit… I am not versed in wyvern riding. The guards that escorted us also insisted on the arrangement: protecting one wyvern is easier than two.” A few hopeful young ladies looked disappointed at the reasonable explanation. The crowd thinned again now that the rumors had been, for the moment, disproved.

Fortunately, as the lies were beginning to wear on Lorenz’s sense of dignity, Claude entered the lobby. They traveled separately to the Roundtable: another show of disunity, and to cool their heads after their indulgent morning. 

“You must excuse me, my charge is here.” He said to another flurry of polite laughter at Claude’s expense.

Lorenz stepped away from the crowd to make himself distinct in the room. Claude, upon seeing him, let out a stupid grin from ear to ear. It felt tremendously good to see him light up... but not among so many people. _Damned fool, after all my careful misleading. _Claude realized his mistake after drawing closer to Lorenz, resettling on one of his more insulting grins.

“Late as usual, Lord Riegan. I will have to ask you to be more prompt to avoid discrediting my name by association with your poor conduct. ”

“My _sincerest_ apologies, _Lord_ Gloucester. Some of us have actual meetings to attend- sorry I didn’t make it in time for the idle gossip”. 

“Do not consider conversing with the citizens we will represent in the future to be_ idle gossip_. You would do well to interact a little more: to learn the nuances of Fodlaner high society.” The suggestion placed Claude as an outsider. It was too much; Lorenz regretted it momentarily, but Claude did not react. He only smiled.

“I thought I would let you have all the attention to yourself today. Don’t want you becoming restless with all your... what is it you do again? You know, now that I think of it, since you came to the Riegan Estate-”

“I accomplish plenty!” Lorenz stuttered, having no argument… his feelings a little bruised. The crowd surrounding was entertained; they were again whispering between themselves. “When you are done being conceited, I will be in the Gallery, preparing to be a proper leader. Make yourself late if you wish; I am ever waiting to succeed you when your brazen attitude makes a corpse of you.” This drew a chorus of shock from the grouping. _A perfect conclusion_, Lorenz thought. 

He ascended the main stairs, Claude staying behind to sow his own rumors into the same crowd. _They will lap up lies from anyone and call it gospel._ He kept a soft spot in his heart for commoners, but his noble peers were not free of criticism or his disdain.

Lorenz glanced back at Claude, who shot him a devilish grin before whispering into some handsome young man’s ear. The very same crowd who clamored to speak ill of Claude now turned their laughter on Lorenz, though with more reservation: hands over mouths, turning away to snicker in the opposite direction. 

_Very good. _

* * *

Lorenz descended into the Riegan gallery to find heirs from minor noble houses had filled the reserved front row: serious, well meaning young adults unfamiliar with the lay of the Auditorium. Being the most populous county, all other rows in the Riegan Gallery had filled as well: merchants and up-and-coming commoners filled the benches without room to breath. _Count Ordelia being deposed must have garnered everyone’s attention._

He approached the skittish young nobles, introducing himself. Being residents of Riegan county, many were unfamiliar to him; their early arrival and serious demeanor led him to believe they were more of the sort he would associate with than those still in the lobby with Claude. After learning their names, he had them arrange space for Claude and himself. It would be tight, and no room for clandestine whispering, but this was more attention for the Roundtable than they could have hoped for: even uniformed and sheltered youth could be transformed in a day of witnessing the petty vanity politics of their parents. 

_All this improvement, and by no work of our own. Lysithea deserves a medal for her outrageous challenge._

While the Duke sustained her demand only provisionally, the Lords were now on edge; it was less likely that heirs came of their own accord, but were called to be present in the galleries after witnessing Lysithea’s awesome prowess for politics. The Lords all now realized the had been too indulgent, their own offspring lacking in the arena of public affairs.

Claude appeared at the end of the row.

“Sorry, excuse me. Nadia, you look like you’re doing well. Hey, good to see you. Tanith, I’m shocked to see you here. Clavis.” Claude made small talk with the other heirs as he made his way into the bench. Lorenz was pleased to see he was familiar with them; though, when he sat next to Lorenz, those seated on his other side drew away in nervous deference. 

They could see Hilda and Marianne across the Gallery, sitting on the front row just behind the five minor Lords of Goneril: just as overcrowded. Claude waved at her, winking, and she in turn placed her hand over her mouth in a gesture of mock surprise. Marianne watched the exchange, and opted herself for a curt nod before departing to join the Edmund Gallery.

Though he could brook no place for it, jealousy bit at Lorenz… the sting was gone now that everything was out in the open. Hilda yet glanced over at the two of them: he took the opportunity to lean into Claude, nearly in front of him, passing a gloved finger over his bottom lip. Hilda raised her eyebrows, then winked at him before puckering up her lips playfully.

Her attitude was far more receptive than he anticipated; accustomed to being spurned and laughed at, he grew warm at her open familiarity with him. Holst joined her just then, pinching her on the cheek and directing his dirty looks mistakenly toward Claude.

Claude ignored Holst's ire, leaning into Lorenz's ear regardless of their audience:

"You're making a fool of yourself." His whisper was irritated, low enough that Lorenz himself could hardly hear it.

After the sharp words in the lobby, no matter how scripted, Lorenz could not shake his simmering hostility. He turned his head round, coming nearly nose to nose with Claude, before grabbing his chin and sliding his face along his cheek to whisper back:

"I am going to take her from you." Claude tensed: whether at the threat, or the warm breath in his ear was unclear.

Lorenz could not believe his own audacity; that his frustration would come to a head now, resolving itself in an open challenge in a crowded room. To anyone else, he hoped their shouldering proximity, their whispering may look like the precursor to a fight. They each fixed their facial expression for irritation… much of it genuine.

Claude drew back, and with a pitiful look mouthed _she's not that desperate._

Lorenz smiled, knowing he had struck a nerve. He advanced on Claude again to taunt him in the noisy room.

"You must put both eyes on the future eventually and she will come running in your neglect." Claude narrowed his eyes and turned away, pensive in his resentment.

"Shouldn't you be sitting behind your father?" He stated loudly. Lorenz noted that now all of their peers had drawn away, looking elsewhere nervously, or whispering to one another. Some had even left the bench to retreat into the upper walk.

“You are once again being such an ungracious host. Set a better example.” Lorenz sneered at him.

He would rather point out the rats in the Gloucester Gallery: Acheron’s ilk; the Merrivicks; Tanners. He would much rather have the empty gallery of the day before, to whisper something more seductive— in apology for the mock-spat and the rash, impulsive claim to Hilda’s affections.

Any consideration of amends was cut short: the Duke emerged from his hall, gaining the auditorium’s undivided attention. Day Two of the Roundtable was under way. 


	46. Roundtable: Day Two, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

Domestic affairs were far more nuanced than public grievances. Lords, merchants, commoners and all could excuse the plain language and verbal missteps that were the verbiage of the masses. Sleights were dismissed as lowborn ignorance in most cases. However, Domestic Affairs were serious issues that affected the country at large: a discussion among Lords almost exclusively, only the rare testimony of witness or contract holder. It made the talks more precarious, higher expectations of etiquette, and harsher social reprimand leveraged against faux pas. Any poor behavior was considered to be deliberate flaunting of the standards of conduct; many Lords had lost allegiances or temporarily crippled their houses in misbehavior.

Lorenz waited for everything in Lalia’s report to come to light in the auditorium. The web of commerce that was central to the nation’s core principles of a self-regulated market were beginning to rend; the benefactors of this disarray would be brought to the Great Lords for scrutiny. He poised a pencil to take note of any details that might clarify what information Lalia had gathered on her own. 

After the usual calling to order, reviewing matters resolved and matters remaining from the previous quarter’s Roundtable discussions, the Duke first expanded on Ordelia County’s position.

“I must note, for the purpose of clarity in light of yesterdays revelation: we are still counting Ordelia County and it’s residents as acting citizens in the Alliance. In consideration that economic trade has continued with only minor disturbance; there have been no indications that the individual Houses are being coerced; and in recognition that any sell of the county was illegitimate. We will reinforce our claim to Alliance land by conducting our governance of it as we always have. Our first motion is to discuss the next course of action for prosecuting Lord Ordelia, and sending notice to the Empire that their purchase of the territory is not recognized by the Alliance.” His wording was careful; he never said there were no corrupt Houses, only that the information had not been brought to the table yet. Lorenz was sure that would change.

“As though it matters, our recognition! The Empire—”

“Duke Goneril, please.” Duke Riegan asked tiredly.

There were many disgruntled protests in the galleries along with Duke Goneril: the seats being so overpopulated, even whispers were raucous. With many commoners among them, there were many louder protests in colorful language, along with a flurry of people demanding an explanation for Gloucester’s similar occupation. The Duke stood, raising his hand: not displeased that such passion had taken his citizens. Merely worn and ready for the day to continue.

“I ask you to hold you protests until I am finished, and to consider how they will drag the day along. I remind those who may be unfamiliar with policy that you can lodge complaints with the registrar after the proceedings have adjourned, to be considered on the fifth day.” The chatter abated; the Duke proceeded.

“Count Gloucester has assured me the Empire presence in County Gloucester is for trade purposes alone. We have discussed this matter at length, and he has provided me documentation that attests to the profit that is being made from the Empire’s army. These records have been copied for display in the office of record.”

_Lies. _Lorenz sat forward in his seat. _We fought for three months at least— more. Perhaps he profits now… What is his goal in concealing the occupation? Surely everyone has their own sources of information— surely they already know._ He looked to Claude for some reassurance that he was not mad… but Claude had not been in Gloucester. He looked on the proceedings, serious, not seeing Lorenz for the absurd display in front of them. 

After these declarations, the day’s discussion’s began in earnest.

* * * 

Three of the Great Lords found common cause for Count Ordelia: Duke Riegan, Edmund, and Goneril all agreeing under-the-table to consider Ordelia’s vulnerable position with extreme discretion. Lysithea was excluded from the talks due to her conflict of interest. This was fortunate for Count Gloucester, who argued for some time that they must set a precedent for stern punishment for any insubordinate Great Lord— a cover for his own now open Empire ties. He only gave in when the Duke ruled over him, despite his continued protest. Count Ordelia was accused of Contempt of National Autonomy (a new crime outlined for his actions), and a date set for full trial. 

After the matter of Ordelia was settled, it took quite some time for suspicious matters to come to the table. When they did, Lorenz was able to check against Lalia’s notes to discount some suspect dealings as legitimate: maybe appearing Empire aligned, but being matters of circumstance when more details came to light. At last, a grievance against a house of interest came to the table. 

The South Sea Spice Trading Company, a fairly new venture operating primarily on the Coast of Ordelia, notified the Roundtable of broken contracts earlier in the year. Their case and their owner were the first representation of several broken contracts with one House Berla. The withdrawal of terms resulted in nationwide shortages, many goods undelivered and missing: undermining the economy at large, the grievance was elevated to a domestic matter. The table had summoned the Triple S Trading Company, spearheaded by a man named Tatalia. Standing at the podium, he looked as though he stood instead proudly behind the wheel of a ship: sea-tealed hair, bleached by the sun, all tatters even when dressed up. A breeze could nearly be seen rustling through his beard in the stale air of the auditorium.

His opponent, Lord Berla stood opposite him: middle aged, short, snobbishly groomed by standards that fell out 20 years earlier.

“In summation for the record: Tatalia, you were contracted to House Berla in Ordelia to exclusively trade spices from Morfis. Not only did they sever the contract, but banned you from traveling in the region with any ‘bulk merchantable paraphernalia,’ their terminology. Not aware your contract had been severed, they confiscated six months of supply, totaling $510,500 in gold, estimated before profit. Your grievance was filed against lost capital: for improper notice, seizure of goods, and detrimental travel restriction.”

“Yes, your grace. With the stock lost and no way to trade, it has all but collapsed.“ Tatalia answered.

Lorenz scribbled onto his paper next to Berla’s name. _Sabotaging South Sea Spice Trading Co. SSS Trading Co./Tatalia potential allies? Link Berla to House Hrym?_ He knew little about House Hrym, only gruesome rumors: but it was too close to Ordelia to discount their having some involvement in the corruption of Ordelia’s Lords... and perhaps even Ordelia’s fall.

“Do you know of any fault on your account that might have voided the contract?” The Duke asked.

“None come to mind, but they _accused_ my company of cutting spices with filler materials… and stealing sheep while passing through. Sheep! I can’t do anything with _sheep_—”

“Please keep excessive commentary to a minimum.” Edmund advised. “Lord Anton von Berla, what is your defense for seizing the goods and ruining the prospects of Triple S Trading Company?”

“Their _prospects_ are not my responsibility. Our contract clearly indicated that substitution nor foul play would not be tolerated; the contact dissolution was issued, and it was my right to seize the illegal paraphernalia.”

“Why was their a foul play clause in an exclusivity trade agreement?” Goneril inquired. “That’s non-standard; awfully lucky you predicted they would be sheep thieves.” He accused Berla of all but setting them up. 

“Not lucky; precaution. It’s a new standard for House Berla.”

“And you saw them stealing the sheep.” Goneril accused again, knowing Berla would never be caught in the elements long enough to witness such a theft.

“We have eye witness’s that saw their distinct blue caravan moments before the sheep went missing.”

“And you brought the witness’s?” Edmund asked.

“It’s nearing harvest season, they could not be spared. Our livelihoods depend on their work.”

“Naturally.” Count Gloucester nodded. “It would be remiss to ask them to waste weeks and let food rot in the fields, when the issue to be solved is a shortage crisis.” Berla returned a thankful nod, before Lysithea cut through their noble partisanship.

“What farm?” Lysithea demanded. “Where are the confiscated goods?”

“It presently escapes me, the farm: there are so many. And my valet has dealt with the goods. He is not present.”

“That response is unacceptable.” Lysithea said decisively. She had plenty of prior misgivings about the man, having met with him the night before during the emergency meeting. He was a major Lord in Ordelia, and one of the contenders for her seat. 

Berla offered no rebuttal, but Lysithea did not drop her gaze. At last, he turned away, wiping his nose. The Count tried to intervene.

“Well, in consideration—”

“Another moment, Count Gloucester. We are still waiting on Lord Berla’s answer. Otherwise, with no present evidence, I move we stop wasting time with someone so clearly disinterested in his own claim to disenfranchisement. The loss of sheep was obviously not enough to affect him in any way that might prompt him to take this situation seriously. The cutting of the spices cannot be proved, or even corroborated. He has all but stolen the profits of another company. And I don’t like his attitude.”

“I take even minor losses with supreme discretion-” Lord Berla defended himself indignantly.

“Not enough discretion to provide evidence. Your word doesn’t suffice here.” 

The Duke chuckled, followed by a huff and a cough.

“Lord Berla, it _is_ standard to offer some evidence. Lady Ordelia is not out of line.” The Duke predicted the Lord’s next complaint would be about Lysithea’s credentials. The room might be incensed that he regarded Lysithea as an equal, whom many considered a mere child- it was, however, routine to relegate county matters to the county's Lord when they took the initiative. But she wasn’t playing their usual game. Her father before her had defended profitable scams such as this out of fear of reprisal; Lysithea couldn’t fear these infirm Lords

Lord Berla was proud, but not clever.

“… There was a time when this country was lead with integrity, when a name_ meant_ something. I implore the Great _Lords_, stop this pathetic deference to some mewling— “

“If you cannot understand nuance, perhaps plain language will enlighten you” The Duke did not yell, but his voice still carried in a rolling thunder across the table. “Lady Ordelia is one of the Five Great Lords at present, and I assure you, if names still do mean anything, House Ordelia far outweighs House Berla.” The Duke belittled the man ruthlessly. “Have you forgotten you are a vassal of Ordelia?”

“… No your grace.”

“Then answer her question as though you have some sense of dignity. We waste time.” A short cough trailed his words.

“I do not remember which farm, earnestly. The Spices have been sold to recoup losses.”

“Five hundred thousand gold to recoup _sheep_?!” Goneril objected this time.

“We sold them at a discount.”

“To who?” Lysithea demanded.

“Various interested parties.” 

“We have already established that vague answers are not acceptable!” Lysithea banged her small fist against the table. 

“On the contrary, I believe that answer is sufficient to rule. You will open your land to the Triple S Trading company, and pay back their losses over the coming year according to last years profit records. Does that suffice for the aggrieved party?”

“Yes sir, Your Grace!” Tatalia answered with a broad smile. 

“Duke—! Your Grace—!“ Berla stuttered.

“The grievance is closed, Lord Berla. You had the opportunity for defense, and you rejected elaboration. In consideration of today’s ruling, you will return tomorrow after we have prepared outlines for the other six contracts you have broken: do not be late. Dismissed.”

Lord Berla was pale, his mouth still moving as escorts removed him from the stage.

_Wow, and he told me to pull my punches. Is he… in a hurry?_ Claude could scarcely tell, sitting as he was nearly behind the Duke: but earlier he had been pale. Never had the Duke shown weakness in the arena of the Roundtable, but a few distinct coughs had already cut through the room._ This is reckless… if he rules on all suspected Empire aligned Houses like this, it’s going to dissolve his neutral stance…_ The thought that his grandfather was beginning to move thrilled Claude… but the reality horrified him. For all that he tried to push him to openly oppose the Empire, Claude realized in an instant:

_The Leicester Alliance isn’t ready._

* * * 

When the Roundtable adjourned, the crowds, who had gathered as though for a party or brawl, left pensive or furious. The overall mood was dark; Lorenz knew this would spread throughout the city. _There could be riots if the Duke is not careful… and he is not staying his hand any longer._ He and Claude shared many whispers during the proceedings: disregarding prying eyes in favor of real-time analysis.

Duke Riegan held many powerful noble houses accountable to common merchants and even small townships: in one case, he overturned a ruling made by a Lord over the tenets of their own land. If those Empire-aligned houses were testing the ground, the Duke had drawn a very deep and careful line. _He is planning something else: the usual order of consideration was arranged alphabetically by plaintiff. Instead, Duke Riegan addressed one complaint against each House defendant, reserving the rest for the following day. Perhaps for some efficiency I cannot yet grasp. Or a ploy? Perhaps Claude has deduced something from this arrangement. _Lorenz wondered after gaining some fresh air during recess.

He would not have the chance to ask until the evening. To avoid any further dispute between them, they agreed not to operate together in public. The feigned fights were wearing on already tense nerves. The politics themselves were concern enough without personal sleights. 

Lorenz and Cassiopeia searched for Jericho and his daughters among the crowds for the duration of the recess. He saw Morley in the throngs, and Adalius as well— the latter being so conspicuous that people were asking what district he ruled, what County he was vassal to, _who he was_: so few even knew his name. Lorenz wished he knew more himself: their holdings known only to them, and being on the border of Gloucester _and_ Riegan _and_ Ordelia, it was anyone’s guess how who they should be beholden to. At the same time, he wished he knew less about them, and they he.

At last, it was Jericho that found Lorenz: not far from his own house, where they were meandering on foot. 

“Lord Lorenz! You did not tell me!” Jericho held his daughter’s hands in each of his… behind him, Judith trailed with Leonie. _What? They have come for his daughters so soon?_

“My sincerest apologies; I was only notified this morning. I was just searching for you to inform you.” He turned to Judith and Leonie. “Lady Judith, it is a pleasure to see you. And Leonie—”

“It’s just Judith, boy.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to see you _boy_” Leonie mimicked Judith: they seemed to be two of a kind. “I’ve been with Judith for twenty four hours and now she’s my second mom.”

“Don’t get clingy.” She snapped. Judith was tense, making everyone uneasy.

“How… good for you, Leonie.” Lorenz motioned to all of them a more secluded place to speak. Wending their way into an empty alley, Lorenz could now see the fear on Dina and Gala’s faces. “Judith… Leonie— could you not allot at least one more day?” Part of Lorenz truly believed removing the girls would save Jericho’s life… but he somberly considered it may be the last time they ever saw their father.

Judith inhaled hard, unwilling to say no, and unable to outline why in front of his children. But she did not need to. 

“I am being sentimental, I know.” Lorenz added. “Were you intending to leave right away? Wait until sunset— or the morning.”

“You know that’s no good. That’s a typical time to travel— if we leave now, the Roundtable will reconvene for the afternoon session, and everyone will be distracted. Especially Morley. This way we'll be hours out before even a spy thinks to notice.” Judith reminded him. Lorenz knew all of this already of course. He turned to Jericho.

“I am sorry… she is correct.” He relented apologetically.

“I am, and I hate to be rude, but I’m sticking my neck out for this. We’re already behind.”

“Judith, please.” Lorenz urged her to calm. 

Jericho was frantic.

“W-what about their things? They are not packed. This is too sudden— it may be that I was wrong; maybe they would be safest with me.” He declared it so weakly, it was clear he did not believe it himself.

“I want to stay with father. Why are we running from Uncle Rowan.” Dina said calmly, though her eyes were rimmed with tears. She was sharp: Gala was confused still, but Dina knew now they were being sent away for safety. “If you take me, I’ll just run away and come back.”

“A fighter: I like that.” Leonie encouraged her. “But you’re still too small. You can do more for your father _and_ your sister if you can be brave enough to come with us.”

“How?”

“How else? You’re coming to House Daphnel to train to be a knight.” 

Dina looked at her sister, and decided not to argue: to do so would expose the danger that Gala was not yet aware of.

“I can be a_ real_ knight?”

“Yep! You have my word.”

“And mine.” Judith tried to soften her tone. “This will be good for everyone.”

Dina considered it carefully, all eyes on her. She took her Gala's hand from her father's.

“… Gala, do you want to go?” Dina asked her. 

“No.”

“Will you come if I go?”

“If I have to. But if you run away, I will too.”

Dinasniffed and dried her eyes. She looked to her father solemnly.

“I’m ready. I’ll take good care of Gala.”

“Oh. Hngh.” Jericho stifled a sob. He knelt to hug his daughters. “You are so grown up. Yes, take good care of Gala. And yourself.” He pulled away, trying to pull himself together. “You will write me about your training, and your studies?”

“Yes father.”

“Good. Well.” He stood up, trying to delay the farewell. “Miss Leonie, I understand you are a friend of Claude’s, to be their personal guard?” 

“Yep! Me, and five other mercs.” Jericho did not look relieved at her assurance of Mercenary help. “Don’t worry— we’re Jeralt’s Mercenaries: incorruptible! The men I picked ‘can’t be swayed once they're paid!’” It was a touch tactless, the offensive confidence true to Leonie’s character.

“That is… quite the assurance.” Jericho muttered.

“I met the man who banded them, and his daughter… they were both exemplary.” Lorenz added. He did not mention they were no longer in the ranks.

“They won’t be the only guard either.” Judith assured him likewise. “We have a complement set aside from our own ranks as well.” At this, Jericho finally did relax.

Before departing, they had Jericho sign several documents to register Dismaea and Gala's crests; it would be submitted discreetly, insurance against fraud, proof of motive should Jericho die. After arranging to pick up the girls belongings, they parted ways with several more hugs, more tears. Leonie took the girls by the hands to guide them away. Judith followed shortly after. 

“Broad daylight, in an alleyway, my children are spirited away.” Jericho refreshed his sorrow.

“Come now, you cannot look so wretched, or someone is sure to take note.” Lorenz passed him his own handkerchief. “We will walk with you home.”

“That will not be necessary, there is one of Riegan’s own guards nearby. But you have my thanks.” He walked past them briskly, out into the crowd to disappear.

“I know you were trying to be kind, Lorenz, but consider than he might resent you.” Cassiopeia offered quietly.

“… I suppose even if it is for their safety, I am still the man who arranged to have his daughters taken.” This hurt Lorenz immensely; the moments when even when doing what was right made him a villain in a different perspective. “If only it did not have to happen so suddenly. I am still reeling myself… Come. Let us return to the Council Hall.”


	47. Mingle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

Lorenz returned to his seat early, before the benches could fill again. He was relieved to see Claude had returned as well, and took to the seat beside him readily in the near empty auditorium. He recounted the events concerning Jericho— Claude was equally surprised, but thought it was probably all the better if even he didn’t know.

Claude checked all around them before sliding a hand onto Lorenz’s knee. With his other hand, he covered Lorenz’s ear as if to whisper in it… instead sliding his tongue along each curve.

“Claude! Stop!” Lorenz scolded, gripping Claude’s hand on his leg.

“C’mon. No one’s here yet.” He whispered, letting a deep, hot breath roll out with his words. “Are you still coming to my room tonight?”

“Not at this rate! And there_ are_ people here!” He shoved Claude away: displeased he was breaking their carefully laid rules… but also still incensed from the earlier gossip.

The crowd poured into the auditorium again, thinner than before. Claude and Lorenz were able to keep ten awkward inches between them for the remainder of the Roundtable: proceedings which addressed minor domestic affairs— nominal grievances that were only elevated as they were between Lords and not commoners. Because such disagreements could affect entire districts and counties, inciting blood feuds and encourage sabotage, they were handled with the same delicacy to uphold national integrity.

Petty in some cases, grave in other instances, there were many of them, and the Council ran over. Typically they adjourned before four, but five rolled around and the remaining gallery spectators thinned considerably once more. By seven, only Lords remained— and their heirs, many of them asleep. They finally came to their last grievance; the Duke called for adjournment at eight fifteen. 

  


* * *

  


The ride back to Riegan Hall was quiet; the Duke’s procession following secondary streets to avoid the street parties that took up during Roundtable week. Claude followed dutifully, all the while fantasizing about slipping out with Lorenz… _Buuut,_ w_e can’t be seen together. Damn_. He let it go: the thought of celebrating made him tired. He had reveled with the commoners many times before, sometimes in disguise, in more carefree times. Even remembering it now exhausted him against the weight of everything else he had to consider. It was just as well: he could not relish staying out late when Lorenz had invited himself to his room. The night-in promised to be more satisfying. _Maybe… tomorrow. We can disguise ourselves and let loose. _

Claude laughed aloud at the elaborate disguises that would be necessary to cover Lorenz’s distinct hair, and everything about himself stood out.

Lorenz swayed his horse closer to Claude; too exhausted now to care for keeping up appearances. They fell back for privacy.

“What are you laughing about?

“Nothing really. You in one of those big hats the old ladies wear in the winter.”

“What a debauched fantasy.”

“Not like that! I wanted to take you out.” He looked through one of the alleyways, guitars and lyres pouring into the back streets, the warm light of celebration passing across his face. “You would have to cover yourself practically head to toe.”

“You as well… On that subject, I rather prefer that we do not mingle outside of Riegan Hall. I do not want to keep up the act more than needed...” He sighed deeply. “They are so nasty Claude; every word I say against you, no matter how benign, is a sleight against … against your origins, not your own personal shortcomings. It makes me ill to indulge them.”

“I know how you feel… But it’s not unexpected. You should hear the way they talk about House Gloucester, the whole county, every person who lives there: every commoner, knight, merchant, stable hand— it doesn’t matter. We need rumors spread, and it’s only nasty people who spread them.”

“Is it so very important?”

“…It’s important to one of my plans. Not a sure plan, but a potential one.”

“Do tell: I want to know if debasing my own character through my foul lies is worth it.”

“Later. At home.”

“Of course.”

Claude waited for Lorenz to correct himself, but he supposed home for Lorenz was Riegan Hall for the moment. He liked the idea that “home” for each of them was the same roof, even if it was temporary.

“We are meeting with Lysithea still. She wants to talk to you about your father.”

“If anyone can outwit him, I am sure it is her and I together.”

  


* * *

  


After the procession dispersed in Riegan Hall’s grounds, Claude and Lorenz found a small meal, and retired to the front sitting room to wait. After pouring tea and recovering for a moment, they could speak freely at last.

“You owe me an apology.” Lorenz began.

“Apology? For what?”

“This morning, in the Council Hall Lobby. You made it sound like I was some… some layabout.”

“Aw, come on, that was part of the show!”

“Yes, but it seemed a little less scripted, a bit more matter-of-fact; your choice of delivery demands amends…” He sipped his tea, and cast his eyes away. “… You hurt my feelings.”

“Feelings? Huh. What about you: you're going to 'steal' Hilda away? She's a person, not a toy." It was not the direction Lorenz intended to carry the conversation, which was supposed to end playfully: but clearly it still bothered Claude.

_In fact, it still bothers me as well. I said it and I meant it._

"You should heed that revelation yourself. I mean only to lavish her in the attention and admiration she is due, unlike some carefree playboys who only want to enjoy her company in passing." Lorenz raised his pinky against his teacup, draining the last of the chamomile, eyes locked with Claude’s. When Claude became irritated, looking away, Lorenz considered how to make a more intimate turn of the rising tension. "I may still indulge _you_ in passing, however, if it does not interfere with my duties or require undue time out of my schedule."

Lorenz adjusted, taking a more casual posture that looked unnatural to him. He uncrossed his legs, letting them slide open against the cushions; languid arm draped across the seats back, his body relaxed in invitation. His eyes were in it. Before he would have looked anywhere else, but tonight his gaze was callous and provocative.

His offer… his _threat_ threw Claude off guard. Lorenz could not possibly predict Claude's only recently discovered fascination with a relationship between them: Lorenz and Hilda… and perhaps with some indulgence for himself, as Lorenz so brazenly offered. When he considered Lorenz might be willing to entertain him after beginning his courtship with Hilda overtaxed his imagination. Words genuinely escaped him, and so Claude turned back to confrontation.

"Maybe you’re regretting being so honest with me. Telling me I ‘should have picked Hilda.’ Are you panicking now?”

“On the contrary: now I can challenge you openly. In hindsight, my hurt rose more from being excluded. Now we are on even footing." Lorenz smiled at the empty teacup he turned in his hands. He cut his eyes up to Claude “… What will you do with yourself when she becomes all mine?”

Claude took the teacup from Lorenz's hands before pushing him down onto the couch roughly, poising himself on top.

"You’re out of your league— ” Claude unlatched the brooch Hilda gifted Lorenz, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt “—We'll cross that bridge if you can afford to build it. For now… Let's talk about sleeping arrangements."

"I find my accommodations to be sufficient, if not a bit stuffy." He feigned, turning his nose as far up as he could manage while pressed into the cushions.

"Weren’t you the one who said the key ‘needed testing’? Don’t tell me you’re reluctant all of the sudden."

"Hardly reluctant…I merely considered, why should I give in to your midnight company, wasting this glorious tension so soon? Maybe it is that I enjoy watching you suffer." Lorenz dislodged one of his long legs where it was pinned against the seat, to wrap it around Claude's. "I have decided you will need to get on your knees a few times before I even begin to consider it."

A growl of longing rumbled from Claude's throat. _The same stubborn arrogance he used to insult me is so much sexier when he’s teasing. Fuck._

"I guess I did this to myself, cornering such a _inestimable_ Noble Lord." He leaned in closer, cornering Lorenz quite literally against the arm rest.

"Indeed. I would not be nearly so alluring if you could expect less of me." Lorenz seized him between the legs.

“Hnn…”

“But I am not so proud anymore that I cannot give in when it suits me.”

Claude gripped his hands into Lorenz's prized iris hair, breaking their present tension by sliding his tongue into his mouth. Lorenz clung to his shirt, his pants, pulling him in closer at the threat of ripping the expensive cotton. He pushed Claude’s face away only to laugh at him, to mock the crude maneuvers of his tongue, before submitting himself again to his heedless, deep kiss.

Lorenz pulled Claude down onto him, full weight, by his pockets; pulling his hips around against him until he could feel all his _excitement_ pressing against him. 

“Ah…”

The Duke came into the sitting room without announcement. Only a terse grunt alerted them before he began shouting.

"SAINTS! THIS IS A RECEPTION SITTING ROOM! GET THE HELL UP! HRRGHh!” A violent cough escaped him in his fury. “Save your lecherations for the midnight hour, we have guests!!! Morven!” His frustration was genuine, but there was no shock or surprise behind his words. They scrambled at his demand, both sitting up and straightening themselves out.

The butler slipped in with a tea tray, the Duke slamming the door behind him. They could hear voices gathering in the foyer.

“Good evening. I suppose I am here to set the table.” Morven stated professionally. 

Lorenz looked from Claude, to Morven, to his lap, seized a pillow to cover himself, and then stared out the window while he smoothed his hair.

“You do not-! Does your grandfather, does the Duke- ! Is he aware- I-” Lorenz stumbled over his words, mortified.

“… Seems like it. With all that_ Morven_ stuff,” Claude spoke as though he was not clearly in front of them. “I guess his servants brought him all the details.” Claude was just as shocked, eyes wide and red across the face with a stupid, nervous smile. “Why- does it upset you?” Claude teased, trying to seem unbothered. He pinned the brooch back at Lorenz’s throat intentionally crooked. The knot of Lorenz’s throat bobbed as he tried to swallow his shame.

More humiliating was trying to pretend Morven was not three feet away setting out tea, as he ignored them effortlessly: master of his craft as a butler.

“I cannot stand the thought of being revealed-” Lorenz turned away from the tea table to adjust his waistband. They both took a deep breath. Morven seized the silence.

“I would politely confirm that with ‘all that _Morven_ stuff,’ that _Morven_ himself did in fact tell him everything.” He bowed neatly, satisfied to upset them. “I will see you early Lord Lorenz: I am your guard for tomorrow. Sleep softly."

As he left to bring their guests, Lorenz’s blush renewed in discomfort; Claude paled in anger. He kept his mouth shut, knowing now that Morven was the sort to enjoy reaction. He returned to their previous conversation.

“… Am I that embarrassing for you?” Claude asked quietly.

“No- nonsense! On the contrary, in any other arrangement you would be a trophy— but the feuds and conflicts of interest—If it would not mean one or both of us stepping down in the future-” Lorenz continued to work about his hair; already perfect, his nervous fingers were putting it in tangles. Claude took them gently. Lowering Lorenz’s hands into his lap, Claude smoothed his hair out. “Thank you.” Lorenz exhaled.

Claude did not expect such frantic affirmation, but he did not have time to enjoy the warmth that spread through his chest: the Lysithea and her party were making their way to the door.

Claude dodged across the table to stand behind one of the two wingback chairs to welcome them. Lorenz stood likewise, placing his hands neatly behind him. He felt disheveled, and was sure he looked the part, but Lorenz could have walked from an early meeting. Except for the skewed brooch... and the back of his neck was still red, if anyone would notice.

  


* * *

  


Lysithea was only accompanied by Cyril tonight, who sat on the couch bouncing his leg with nervous energy. After exchanging a few kind words with her, the Duke retired: he was just only holding back a severe cough when Morven and a white mage urged him away. Only the four of them remained.

“I’ll keep this brief, because I’m tired.” Lysithea said, yawning as if she needed to authenticate her claim to fatigue. “Lorenz, I wanted to speak with you about your father, and I want your input on the contenders for my House”

“I am happy to help in any way I can… And intrigued as to what plans you might outline for my father.”

Claude perked.

“Wait, before I forget, I wanted to tell you my plan from earlier too. Concerning your father, and our uh… public disunity.” He interrupted.

“Yes, go on.” Lorenz said, Lysithea nodding in approval.

“… You might need to go back to Gloucester at some point. I need you on your father’s side.“

Lorenz and Lysithea shared a contemplative silence, both taken aback. It was obvious, even to Lysithea, how infatuated Claude was: to hear him openly advocate for sending Lorenz back into a veritable lion’s den was a unexpected.

“… that was actually part of my own plan.” Lysithea agreed. “If you return, you can feed the Count secrets that you ‘gathered’ at Riegan Estate. All lies of course. And maybe change his opinion.”

Lorenz nodded, drawing his hand across his chin in thought.

“…It seems you and I are of the same mindset. I had considered it myself— but it is not a solution I expected from you, Claude. I believed I would need to fight you to accept my motives.”

“You’re absolutely right that I don’t like it. But if Lalia can go with you… And I’ll send everyone I have to be nearby. Right now we only have you, Lysithea, and not for long. To some extent we can influence Lord Goneril through Hilda’s increasing persuasion. Margrave Edmund is neutral— going where the table goes, but not without well reasoned input. I’m not worried about him.”

“That leaves the Duke and my father.”

“… Well, I think we don’t have to worry about gramps for too long either. He’s moving quickly.” _And very ill_ remained unspoken, but understood. “So, to account for whatever house takes over Ordelia, and our minimal influence otherwise, we need to at least push some influence through the Count himself.”

“My thoughts entirely. Which leads me to my next point.” She turned her attention to Lorenz. “How much do you know about your extended family, Lorenz?”

“Bastards, all of them. So I am told.”

“Yes, and they want your father’s seat.”

“… Yes. I have been the target of a few attempts on my life by their hands. Apparently. It makes me wonder about cousins having unfortunate accidents.” Lorenz looked into his tea, bothered by his unscrupulous family, but more by his past naivete.

“And I assume they are much like your father, of the same opinions?” She held her fists in front of her determinedly.

“Presumably. I have not spent much time with them; I only know what Lalia has told me and what my father effectuates in his outbursts concerning them. ”

“You can leverage that. I don’t know how but… maybe, make it seem like his seat is under a far greater threat than he imagines. You can’t be a motivator as a potential usurper if you’re going to work with him. But you can use Claude’s people to… I don’t know, spread false rumors and tempt your family to act more aggressively. Corner him, then convince him that making the decisions you suggest would bolster his security in his seat: because the one thing I_ do_ know is that his support is falling. Convince him you two can work better together: father and son reunited against the world.”

Lysithea was more inclined for study, magic practice, even politics: but she was far too inexperienced in espionage and its workings. The plan was half-formed, assuming too much about too many unknown actors. Lorenz and Claude still considered it with seriousness: though she may not have the vocabulary for such schemes, there was no doubt some cleverness they were not comprehending in her design. She was an excellent tactician regardless.

“… I will have to consider it. I feel as though it is a plan that needs polishing.” Lorenz said.

“Yeah, and it will be a while before you go back to Gloucester anyway.” Claude added. “There’s plenty of time.”

Lysithea nodded, tired behind her determination.

“Yes. Thank you Lysithea, you have opened my eyes to a new possibility. Now: the new House to fill the Great Lord’s seat...”

“Morley is one of them. I don’t understand why, but it seems like it’s going to be a big problem.” Claude started, then hand Lorenz the list while he rattled off the other houses.

“Morley… of course.” Lorenz seemed privy to some insight Lysithea and Claude were not.

“It doesn’t make any sense to me.” Lysithea complained. “It seems like more of a hassle for him. A waste of time too.”

“It makes perfect sense. If he takes the central bank to Ordelia, he can alter the entire economical flow of the Alliance, moving our central hub closer to the Empire for trade. Essentially, he would be moving the seat of power from Derdriu to Ordelia, gutting House Riegan’s influence. His private bank has become far too powerful, I am sure the Duke is realizing far too late. In time, should he ever procure heirs, his family might finally usurp House Riegan.”

“That’s so stupid! Can’t people just _not_ be greedy?”

“It is not greed; it is desperation. Fear. Insecurity. As for the other houses… I do not know how to advise you. All of them seem to have empire ties, all of them except Morley and Benettos being questioned by the Roundtable.” Lorenz ran over the names on the list in front of him. Ordelia had always been a weak county, owing to two generations weak governance, and therefore easily corrupted Lords. Lorenz considered a gamble that might put a strain on any amiable ties with Lysithea moving forward, but he saw no alternative. He put the paper down slowly. “_I_ would choose _you_, Lysithea. Make a bid to reinvigorate your house. Stay at the table.”

“W H A T?”

Claude inhaled sharply, but tried to back his suggestion. He was hopeful that if his own ludicrous plan to send Lorenz back to Gloucester found support, there was a chance Lysithea could change her mind. 

“He’s right. It’s where you can do the most for the Alliance. It gives us a voice, and when I become Duke, we’ll have at least two out of five votes in agreement.”

Lysithea exploded; Cyril started beside her, shouting in surprise.

“RIDICULOUS! HAVE YOU EVEN BEEN LISTENING TO ME!? You have no _idea!”_ She stood up, gritting her teeth. “I’m not saying it again! I don’t have time for this! I don’t want it, I don’t want to stay in Ordelia, I _don’t_ want to deal with corrupt Lords, and I DON’T want to be near House Hrym! I’m not doing any of it!”

“Lysithea, calm down.” Cyril stood up awkwardly, worried. He brought his arms up to grab her, but then thought better of it: instead hovering behind her in a panic. “It’s alright, ya don’t gotta do anything you don’t want.”

“I’m not, you don’t have to tell me!” She snapped at him. Her eyes were wide, breath frantic. She wasn’t angry, Lorenz realized- she was terrified.

“Lysithea!” Lorenz seized her, not so nervous as Cyril. “Lysithea, I am sorry. You have done so much already.”

“I can’t do it!” She squeezed her fingernails into her fists again and again.

“I know. Shh.” He ran his hands up and down her shoulders. “Forget it. You should get some rest.”

Cyril was brooding behind her. He took her shoulders above Lorenz’s hands, pulling her away.

“I think Lady Lysithea should turn it.” He stole Lorenz’s advice, and his attempt to comfort her. Putting his arm around Lysithea protectively, Cyril guided her carefully from the room.

When they were gone, Lorenz was left standing in shock, disturbed by Lysithea’s outburst.

“Did you catch that?” Claude asked behind him.

“House Hrym.”

“Sounds like something she isn’t telling us.”

“… They are in the Empire. Some cruel rumors about them circulate from time to time, unfounded of course. Let us not extend our concerns beyond our borders yet.”

“Right… but the Empire might be our concern soon. You noticed how aggressive the Duke was?”

“I paid little attention between the bare facts, I’m afraid. I nearly filled all of the margin’s on Lalia’s report.”

“We have to do more. Now. Soon. Dear Grandpa is moving on the corrupt houses.”

“When this week is over, now that we have a clear picture of the state of affairs, we will refine our plans.”

“Yeah.”

Claude leaned forward, rubbing his hands together.

“I’m uh… It’s late. I’m going to my room.” He looked at Lorenz expectantly. Playing the fool, Lorenz tapped his finger on his lip.

“I suppose I should rest as well. It has been such a long day…” He looked Claude up and down, savoring the confusion. “Goodnight Claude.”

Lorenz made his way back to his suite, pleased with himself. _It will not be as gratifying if I plainly follow him. He will be waiting desperately for me. _

He followed the halls to his suite with a smug smile on his face. It diminished his anticipation to come back to his room, finding it cold and vacant. Cassiopeia was a fine guard, but not a maid, and he did not bother to request another. Claude’s own paranoia had contaminated his ability to trust anyone new; there was no one he would risk serving him tea or attending him alone.

Each lantern lit, the length of time it took for the bathtub to fill completely, and trying and failing with his own hair again and again made him appreciate Lalia more._ I hope she is well at the Estate. She said they were planning… something. The Duke never did divulge his designs to Claude. Or perhaps Claude never told me. Something else lost in the fervor of the Roundtable… perhaps intentionally._

As the clock rolled nearer to twelve, Lorenz slowed his pace, brushing his hair gently, choosing something that was between day wear and night wear for half an hour alone. He gathered the flame from the lanterns with a whispered _UndFuir_ as he stood in the doorway.

Finally prepared… but not ready.


	48. The Fourth Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

Lorenz now felt exceedingly witless. He walked as reservedly as possible up the stairs, down the third floor hall to Claude's door. Falling back on his defensive ways was tempting: he wanted to play the fool, make Claude move on his own and pretend he himself had nothing to do with it.

_I want the courage that comes with the wine. Claude did say we could continue to play such games, so long as no hurt arises from it. We can do as we have, if we take the cruelty out of it._ Lorenz could not begin to fathom how to separate the game from such consequences while compromised by drink.

He removed the Deer Key from his pocket, turning it over in his hands. It was warm and comforting… but did not feel like it was made for such an intentional occasion. He returned it, opting to knock quietly on the door. Each rap felt like an announcement to the House at large: they echoed through the empty halls like a church bell on a clear day. The footsteps from the other side, the twisting of the knob seemed to stretch into excruciating minutes. Lorenz looked down coyly, nervous… 

Being some head taller than Claude made it so that when the door was opened, Lorenz was looking directly into welcoming green eyes.

Claude took a surprised breath to see it was Lorenz who knocked, expecting him to use the key... Or maybe for the untied hair... Perhaps for the blush that already took up across Lorenz's face, or the desire he could not conceal. Or the evening wear Lorenz chose, that joined the authority of a suit, concealing, but cut in such a way to suggest that it was meant to be taken off. Whatever his reason, Lorenz found the little trill of surprise to be as enticing as the genuine smile that followed it.

“May I come in?” He asked softly. 

"Yeah… I mean, of course. Welcome, _Lord Gloucester_." Claude invited him formally, taking up Lorenz's hand and brushing his lips across it in a gesture typically reserved for beautiful women.

"Lord Riegan." Lorenz crossed the threshold as Claude guided him by the hand, grinning in amusement. 

When the door clicked into place, the playfulness abated, the air changing immediately: warming, burning, oppressive with the most indulgent of tension. They were alone, for the first time cognizant of their shared desires, among a bed and pillows... willing and too aware of it. Lorenz had never expected merely standing in the same room as Claude to feel so satisfying.

The room was spotless. He walked over to the bed casually, smoothing the embroidery on the neatly folded duvet.

"I grow listless already." Lorenz announced, returning his gaze to Claude. "What are you waiting for? I am your esteemed guest. Entertain me." He demanded without reserve, his bright eyes taking in Claude from head to toe. 

_Oh he's_... Claude panicked- his restraint was already weak and he was no match in lingual foreplay. Though surely he had never practiced it aloud, Lorenz's years of pouring every nasty thought into formal letters and floral prose had given him the finesse to make even petty demands seductive. _He spent so much time running from me. I'm going to make such a fool of myself and it's gonna feel so good._

Claude approached him wordlessly, bracing his shoulders tightly, leaning in unnecessarily close to remove his jacket. He breathed across the back of his neck in passing, lavender hair caressing his face. Claude folded the jacket over his arm, wrapping the other around Lorenz's waist to guide him to a nearby chair.

"Please, make yourself comfortable." Lorenz did as he was asked, relaxing into the chair’s corners, bringing his hand up to lean against. His eyes followed Claude as he hung the coat, and came to stand before him.

"You seem nervous." Lorenz deflected his own feelings onto Claude; hoping to conceal his own anxiety.

"You seem… comfortable." Claude answered.

"Am I intimidating you?"

"You're like a different person... I... uh..." He go to his knees and began removing Lorenz's shoes, sliding them under the chair. Lorenz looked down on him, waiting for an answer. "I guess I didn't expect you to be so... so...”

Lorenz wrapped his leg around Claude's back, pulling him forward. He fell into Lorenz's lap, arms and shoulders draping across his legs.

"So inviting?" Lorenz pushed his free hand through the thick brown hair, Claude's eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. "I told you I had tired of restraint."

"I remember-mmf." Lorenz guided Claude's head down into his lap without resistance.

"You denied me the other evening when I so selflessly offered to indulge you. You must make amends before we can move on."

He would not allow Claude to redeem himself by words; already lost in the folds of black cotton that very poorly concealed Lorenz's rising desire, he opened his mouth to press hot breath through the fabric, cascading along the length of his cock.

"Aahn..." Lorenz's moans were light, streaked in tremolos with his characteristic thin pitch. It diminished his authority only a moment— until he gripped Claude's hands where they pulled against his shirt, demanding "more" in a most _un_characteristic low groan.

Claude withdrew from his lap reluctantly, to pull urgently at his collar before unbuttoning Lorenz. He followed the shirt buttons all the way to those on his trousers, tugging at them until they popped apart, to run his fingers through the soft iris mane spread across Lorenz’s navel. Claude whimpered when, dipping below Lorenz's waist band, smooth, hot skin twitched against his finger tips. 

"Oooh... fuck. Lorenz-" Claude tried to return his lips to his lap- But Lorenz seized him by the chin, pulling him up to face him. He took one of Claude's hands from pulling on the waist of his pants, folding his fingers around him.

"I prefer it slow. With your hands." He moaned, guiding Claude's hand up and down his shaft. "_Spoil me_." He begged, letting go, sliding back against the chair.

While he stroked, Claude used his free hand to work down carefully the waist of Lorenz's pants; he was distracted enough, turned away into the chair's high sides, hands worrying about his face in muted pleasure.

_Selfish Bastard-_ When his trousers were out of the way, Claude ran his tongue over his lips… plunging Lorenz's cock into his mouth without warning.

"AH! Ahhn! Wait!" Lorenz cried out. Relenting, he took Claude by the hair, pulling and pushing his head in rhythm. His legs shook, fingers tightened, hips tensed against shudders of release.

"Mmmn..." Claude understood why he begged for such careful handling: unpracticed and sensitive, after only three or four thrusts he filled Claude's mouth. He swallowed between throbs, thirsty for him, chills running over his arms and spine.

Claude pulled back, licking his lips over again, to watch Lorenz huff and tremor against the floral damask. Claude wondered what he might look like instead surrounded in gold coverlets; against a wall papered in roses or on a bed of cool grass in the moonlight. The sight, long missed, of Lorenz helpless from the affection his romantic nature begged was a vision unequaled.

"Come." He stood. Lorenz's eyes fluttered open; he leaned forward in the chair eagerly at the sight of his broad, warm hands stroking himself through his pants. Claude made a show of pulling himself free, and pressed his dick against Lorenz's panting mouth._ I'll go easy on him—_

There was no need. Lorenz ran his tongue underneath the length of him, diligent, dripping with want. After teasing about him with soft puckers of his lips, tongue tip swirling against hard lines and soft curves, he took Claude full: sinking the hilt of him down into his throat. In all of his mock rejection, blushing, shyness, he still maintained the insatiable expertise he honed years ago on his knees in the dorm. While Lorenz took him slowly, Claude ran his fingers under his throat to feel him breath and swallow.

"AHh! Lorenz...! Did you fantasize about that muuuu- ughh." Lorenz bobbed his head, only making his mouth work more unbearable. "...did you want me so badly while we were apart?" Lorenz answered with his fingers now, reaching under his shirt to dig into Claude's bare stomach- before gripping into his hips to pull him in harder and faster.

"Hah... hah... hhhn... oh fuck..." Claude grabbed Lorenz's hair; it tangled in his fingers like fine, loose silk. Lorenz looked up to him, eyebrows furrowed in hazy delight at the massage of his hands. 

"Uhn... Enough-!" Claude had vague and distant memory of Lorenz having a dislike for the taste of him. In answer, Lorenz pushed away from him, catching his breath sharply and wrinkling his nose as Claude jerked and spilled across his neck and chest.

"Mmmn... My lov— Uh! Claude!" Lorenz trilled, opening his eyes again to look up at him, many long suppressed feelings fighting for his attention... but he was still squeamish. "Handkerchief." He whispered.

The mood declined rapidly, tension fading from sensual to rigid. Claude shed what clothes remained around his shoulders and ankles. Pulling a blanket around him to sit on the bed, he watched Lorenz dress a little too quickly, looking away and fussing about details. Claude wondered why he was dressing at all, but let him alone until one of them had the courage to speak. All of the sultry bravado seemed to have left Lorenz the same apprehensive romantic he was before. 

“Ah… I did not bring anything to sleep in. And I locked myself out of my room.” He lied. 

“Pfft… haha!” Claude could not help by laugh at the obvious mistruth, though he shouldn’t have mocked Lorenz’s intentions. “Well, there are plenty of vacant suites. Although… you can stay here if you just _want_ to.”

“So you will be taking the chair then?” Lorenz teased about their prior ‘nights’ together, while his fingers twisted a longer strand of hair.

“I wouldn’t be so selfish. You can have the chair this time.”

“Nonsense.” Lorenz began worrying with his buttons again: removing his shirt this time, he began to lay in excuses. “If I sleep in this, it will ruin the fabric.”

“Right.” Claude indulged him. _These are lies and excuses I can handle. Actually, it’s kinda endearing_. Claude was rising again against the blankets at Lorenz’s onset timidity. 

Lorenz stood to remove his pants.

“Could you not look. While I get into bed.” He chose not to address Claude’s renewed arousal. 

“Oh, the pants are delicate too?” Claude closed his eyes regardless. Lorenz stripped down, folding the pants neatly before taking to the blankets. 

“I am spent. There is no mood left in me.” Lorenz warned preemptively.

“For now.” Claude uncovered his eyes when he felt the bed shift and heard the rustling of the duvet. 

He was truly spent and reluctant. It had been years: suddenly Lorenz realized, for all his daydreams and poems, he was inexperienced. Unpracticed. The first and only time Claude turned him over was a blur: being the night before Garreg Mach fell, the memories were obstructed by distress. 

His laschivousness had left him as well.

It never stopped for Claude: he moved in beside Lorenz properly. Then on top of him, several tangled blankets between. Despite the layers, Lorenz felt a distinct hard press somewhere near his hip: it was tantalizing, accented by the glossy satin sheets and Claude’s arms above him. His heavy breathing was the most irresistible. For a moment, Lorenz considered daring to extend their tryst until two, or three am, and enduring all the slow progress it would take, stealing hours of sleep from tomorrow. But his nerves would not allow it. 

Claude lowered himself down, arms folded by Lorenz ears, to stroke his hair, chin to chin. He put his mouth to Lorenz's, but without pressing.

“Do you want more?” He whispered, his words caressed against Lorenz's lips. 

"I have already indulged you more than I intended.” Lorenz breathed another warning. Claude pulled back so he could speak. “Sitting all day in the gallery has left my body sore."

"Is that what did it?" He wrapped around Lorenz, who turned his face away playfully, exposing his neck.

"I am simply spent tonight." Claude continued, digging at him with his hips and fingertips, kissing and biting at his neck, testing Lorenz’s resolve.

"Hngmh." Claude grumbled into his hair. “Actually, I’m pretty exhausted.” He stopped pawing, but did not distance himself: instead he rolled to the side and tucked his chin into Lorenz's neck. A cool earring pressing into Lorenz’s cheek reminded him-

"Whatever did become of your braid?"

"I cut it off."

"Why?"

"It's for young men in... in other countries- so I got rid of it." 

"I found it rather sad- it well suited you. For days after you looked nothing of the Claude von Riegan I was familiar with."

"I wasn't. And I'm not now."

Lorenz combed his fingers through Claude’s for a silent moment.

"... Do you resent me for having a hand in that?" 

"Hm. A little at first. But when you're right you're right. I need to be present.” He grazed his lips to Lorenz’s ear. “And I think we can agree, it’s not so bad."

Lorenz listened to Claude's breathing turn into a deep snooze against his ear.

_This arrangement may serve for the time being._


	49. Rule of Misfortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-02-2020

The night passed in lulls and upsets; they first slept heavy, entangled for the early hours of the morning, drowned in fatigue. When turning in the sheets, sliding against one another, passions flared in their half waking, heartbeats quickening when one moved to find the other was still beside him… and not reluctantly. Outstretched hands were met with nudges and sighs, or the lacing of fingers, pulling closer.

Lorenz could not carry his disinterested facade with him into sleep: his body betrayed him, his skin chilled and begged each time Claude slid against him between the blankets. There were kisses, he remembered, everywhere: Claude would seize him in unawakened rapture, tongue and fingertips pulling across him desperately before slowing as he succumbed again to his tiredness. It happened again and again as they shifted: finding Lorenz’s warmth next to him, Claude would meet it with wandering hands. Lorenz would bump into him, and pull him back into his arms to continue his resting.

Claude once woke enough to find Lorenz’s mouth, sliding a single finger in to stroke along the length of his tongue. His hands ran between Lorenz’s legs, eager fingers wet with his own saliva sliding under and into him carefully. Lorenz’s body shivered while Claude murmured some soft, Almyran teasing into his ear. _Ahda_ he knew: _calm_. Lorenz did not know the rest, but the mood of them was not lost in the dark: _Good. More? You want me… You have me. I’m here_. He seemed to say. It was enough for Lorenz, to imagine: the words were to indulge him and their translation was not important. 

When the tentative slide of his fingers turned to a steady thrust, they woke fully in the dark room, form and figure barely discernible. Lorenz found Claude’s face, pulling him close, to kiss him deeply. He realized he had not kissed him enough the day before, or the one before that: perhaps never would in his life spend enough time tasting him.

There were no words, or even moans: breaths and huffs filled the bed before drawing off into even and soft sighs as Claude slowed, his body demanding more sleep before the day would begin. He drew his hand from inside of Lorenz, taking him up in another embrace, promising _later, tomorrow_ in slurred and sleepy whispers. 

  
* * *

_These few days have seen me whiplashed with every kind of tension. I do not know what pleasure or defeat will come next, but it is such an improvement to the stolid life I lead in Gloucester. If the Roundtable could carry on for months, it would be preferable. If there was no war, perhaps I would be home, distant from Claude and Hilda both, empty bed and brimming desperate heart only to fill it. I cannot regret a single thing that has happened. I cannot wish for the war to never have started. _

The selfish thoughts grieved Lorenz. So early, just upon waking, he always carried from dreaming his most earnest feelings: typically composed of longing, as Hilda and Claude fought to be first on his mind and in his heart with the earliest rays of dawn. For now, Claude dominated his every waking: this time as well, but not only in thought. 

Dawn light outlined him, draped over Lorenz, soaked with the night’s sweat they spent together: his hair smoothed and parted in thick strands, slick from exertion. Even now it was hot; too many blankets that were meant for one body, and Claude’s cold nature meant that even the morning’s chill could not touch them. The seventh hour chime not yet sounded, he was drifting back to sleep when he felt Claude shift and rise from the bed.

Claude fumbled through the blankets and took his wrist.

“Someone’s coming.” He mumbled. “Too early.”

Lorenz rolled to face the door, curious if he meant it so he would not be startled, or if he should be prepared for an assault. He did not maintain the wakefulness just now to do more than watch and wait from the duvet, now too cold in Claude’s absence. He heard the footsteps on the creaking wooden floor of the hall.

Just as Claude pulled on his crumpled pants, a knock came rapidly, too hurried for the still of the morning.

An exhausted inquiry carried through the door before Claude could respond.

“Lord Claude? There is an urgent matter needing your attention.” It was Morven; his usually solid, stoic voice now wavered. 

Lorenz covered himself, but fumbled by the bedside table where he remembered seeing a concealed weapon before. Claude unsheathed a knife to keep in his hidden hand as he answered the door. 

It was Morven, but it did not seem like today was the day he might betray them: he looked reprehensible. Morven’s typical, freshly pressed look was now fraught around the edges, his eyes sunken as though he did not enjoy even a few hours of sleep. Lorenz knew the deathly pallor to be magic fatigue… considering what Lalia told him about the strange gray magic he was using on the Duke, he suspected the Duke’s health was in question. Morven glanced at Lorenz for only a moment, no energy to expend on a reaction. 

“The Duke is ill. You must serve as his proxy at the Roundtable. Today.”

“What?” Claude looked concerned- if it was for his position or his grandfather, it could not be discerned. “What’s wrong with him?”

“The coughing cannot be quelled. His prior suppression of his symptoms has taken a toll, and he must now suffer through them for a period. To mend some damage by his own body.” Morven produced a packet. “Cassiopeia and I will attend you. Dress, we have much briefing.”

Claude made no move to obey.

“I’m not being briefed by_ you_.”

“The Duke is entirely compromised.” Morven objected weakly.

“I at least have to go over the brief with him, even if he just points and nods. You’ve already proved you can forge documents- I’m not trusting you.”

“… I understand, my actions have brought this suspicion on. I will wait outside until you are prepared to see the Duke.”

“Leave the ledger on the desk.” Claude commanded, pointing. Morven looked at him, confused. “If you’ve already tampered with them, I want proof. Put it down.” Morven nodded, tossing the ledger on the desk before making his way into the hall.

“You are sharp for so early.” Lorenz rose, clutching a blanket around him, and began searching urgently for his belongings. He was dismayed at the Duke’s illness, but thankful for some distraction from the morning after. “Convey my well wishes to the Duke- and do let me know if there is any way I can aid you. Otherwise, I will ride separately again for the Council Hall.”

“Don’t. I want you to ride with me.”

“… Very well. I will be in the stables at 8 sharp.” Lorenz recovered all but his left sock. 

“No, I need you to come with me to the Duke as well. Be my second ears.”

“… Of course. I will dress properly for the day and meet you at his quarters.” After donning the previous nights clothes, he measured Claude’s reaction: standing, leaned against his vanity, not preparing in the slightest. He stroked his chin, staring into nowhere lost in thought.

Lorenz took up Claude’s face between his hands.

“Everything will be fine. According to Alliance Statutes, you will not rule on any matters brought to you, but convey them to the Duke to be resolved on the fifth day, by himself or by proxy. Your job will be to listen and conduct yourself appropriately.”

“Right. What if he dies?”

Lorenz was embarrassed to have misread his concerns so rudely.

“… Then you, _we_ will need to be ready enough. You must elucidate to me your contingency plan, tonight.”

“Yeah. Okay. You’ll come with me to the ready room?”

“That may be a minor scandal, but I will find my way there discreetly.”

“…Thank you Lorenz.”

Claude did not look distraught, or saddened. He was resigned, stone faced: Lorenz was beginning to understand _this_ was his stress manifested. His forehead furrowed briefly from time to time, before he became conscious of the tell, correcting it. 

“I will meet you there Claude, hurry.” Lorenz urged him in the doorway as he continued to make no move. He shut the door on him, hoping the knock of heavy wood on the frame would snap him out of it. The clock tower outside chimed six.

Emerging in the hall, Lorenz found Morven slumped in the floor against a wall.

“Not very becoming of a butler.” It was meant to be criticism, but instead it came across as piteous. _Perhaps I am being a bit petty. _

“Hmm?” Morven looked up. “I have been given leave to rest whenever possible.”

“What are you doing to the Duke that demands so much of your reserve?”

“I am sworn to secrecy— I can only tell you it is paramount to his continued rule. Until Claude is ready.”

Lorenz crossed the hall to stand over him. Whatever their personal dispute, he _did_ have some pity for a person who at least _appeared_ to be sacrificing so much.

“Is that why you are senior staff with so little service record?”

He did not answer. He seemed to be unconscious.

Lorenz clicked his tongue and sighed before kneeling beside Morven. He decided against his personal wishes to push his assessment of Morven’s personal character aside, and judge him for his professional capacity: which clearly included risking his life for the Duke. Interpersonal shortcomings were not stopping him from aiding House Riegan to his fullest capacity, and so they would not stop Lorenz from doing the same.

He took one of Morven’s hands and removed the black glove.

“What are you doing?” Morven's head snapped up. 

“Helping.” He slid their palms together, his against Morven’s glossy red scars. “I do not know how to do it, precisely, sharing energy. Lalia showed me once. But if you can do it to help the Duke, and Claude.”

Nothing happened. Morven looked at him for a moment, red rimmed eyes struggling to stay open.

“I could kill you. Drain you, pouring you out like cool water from a carafe.”

“I do not believe you will.”

“Infallible reasoning, My Lord.” Morven enacted the magic, draining slowly from Lorenz as one might drain a staff or wand. It was uncomfortable; too intimate. When Lalia showed him, he thought nothing of it: being so close to her already, the diffusion of energy between them felt natural. Lalia’s magic was all cleansing fire and righteous light: very bracing, almost unbearable. Morven was tumultuous; the fragments of his own energy that naturally refracted back to Lorenz were not unlike splinters blooming under the skin of his palm, then dissipating into a warm and almost pleasurable tingle. The duality was disturbing.

The well rested feeling Lorenz gained from passing the night with Claude was being stolen: splinter by splinter he began to feel just as he had the night before. Morven spoke again, as he began to carefully sever the tie. 

“I understand the Duke is no personal investment to you, but to assume I am so willing to aid Claude... do you trust me for such a task?”

“You said you wished to help the Alliance; Claude is the future Duke. I would hope you would not contradict yourself for some petty jealousy. I demand better of you.” 

“Your faith is well placed; I would not choose my own wishes over the Leicester Alliance.”

“As I thought. Claude is cunning because he is paranoid; I must have forgiveness and trust enough for the two of us. Should you turn out to be the wrong sort, I will dispose of you. It is really quite simple.”

“Kill me? Do not tease.” Morven was regaining some color along with the warmth in his voice. He sounded amused at the thought of death. He pulled his hand away at last; they each flexed their fingers to regain the feeling in their hands that had been numbed by the flow of energy.

“You have measured me wrong if you believe I am incapable. I have killed greater men than you.”

“Hmhm. I have no doubts, I have witnessed the depths of your vengefulness. Is there any possibility you could ever reserve such passion for me… for defending my life, as well?”

“You have given me precious little to value beyond your utility as a servant.”

“Cold, My Lord. Cruelty does not become you.”

“Cruelty suits no one; I have never met someone who was not secretly inclined to love and create only, fully and deeply… if it were an option in this world. It is a shame anyone must rely on cruelty to make themselves understood.”

  
* * *

At the sound of the Duke on their approach, Claude decided Lorenz should wait in the hall. 

It was wretched; Lorenz did not know natural death well, only that on the battlefield: even skewered men did not make such gruesome sounds.

He could hear pained words interspersed between wet and scraping coughs that made his own throat crawl. More often, Morven took up explanation after the Duke muttered a few words; he imagined the Duke would simply nod along to assuage Claude’s scrutiny of Morven’s claims. Surely it helped that Cassiopeia was there… but they were still unsure if Morven had some accomplice. Though Lorenz chose to trust him, there was still a powerful illusionist about them. Perhaps it was Morven himself; perhaps it was anyone in the Duke’s senior staff or someone who had already fled House Riegan’s staff. Perhaps it was Cassiopeia. There was no time to worry about it now.

He heard the Duke struggle long enough to officially proclaim Claude his proxy: Morven and Cassiopia witnesses. 

When they emerged, Claude was sombre, silent, keeping the briefing packet close. He pulled it up, looking it over again as they made their way to the stables.

“Wait. All of these Lords were tried yesterday. Why did the Duke split them? Why are they grouped by House Defendant and not by House Plaintiff?”

“A trick I suggested.” Morven answered. “Scare the suspect Lords on day two, and if they do not return for day three, chase the rats back to their dens. A sure sign of guilt, it would allow House Riegan to take action against them legally instead of acting as an unprompted aggressor.” 

Claude’s eyes rolled down the list until he saw Morley: nineteen grievances filed against him.

“Why was Morely not charged yesterday?”

“He’s a sort of rat king: a tangled mess of controversy surrounds him, one cannot be teased from another to try alone. And he cannot run without abandoning the bank anyway. He is entrenched.”

“I had no idea.”

“The grievances were filed late on the first day, as a coalition of Lords and merchants. I presume it was to prevent… _retaliation_ before he could be exposed.”

“I see.”

They left for the Council Hall early, before anyone would hope to see the Duke’s usual procession. 

  
* * *

  
They were discreet in number; Cassiopeia at point, Claude and Lorenz, Galen, Devar, Morven drawing up the sides and rear, with a broader accompaniment of guard walking the perimeter of the street. 

Claude looked entirely different, glowing in new, golden clothing against the gray light that filled the shaded streets. He was clean shaven, where before he had been trying some strange beard when he was not meant to be the center of attention. Lorenz sensed just enough cologne, as it drifted to him on the soft breeze: new, nothing he had made use of before. It relieved him to see he was taking presentation so seriously— it would go a long way._ I hate to admit it, but he needs to learn to speak properly, or they will always undermine him. It would complete the authority. _

It was early enough that Lorenz kept with Claude straight into the Lord’s Hall and the Duke’s ready room, no one present to witness them. He had seen his father’s ready room plenty, but this one was not so resplendent. Bigger, of course, luxuriant in stoic, antique decor… but still sparse. The walls were the same warm colored stone of the basements, dark bronze the only accent besides the red chestnut shelves and desks that matched it’s sheen. Only the flag of the Alliance bore any color, except the crest of Riegan carved here or there, occasionally plated in gold. It was an authoritative room, and it lead Lorenz to understand a little more why Gloucester’s would never be leaders of the Alliance: having more allegiance for frivolous and beautiful, distracting things. 

The grand clock showed seven fifteen, almost two hours to prepare Claude further. Lorenz took to a plain couch under a mounted shield to regain the energy he extended to Morven: who was now using his “good nights rest” to explain the nuances of the proceedings. Cassiopeia took over then, reviewing the Duke’s various suspicions, the questions he needed asked in the proceedings, what he hoped to find, and what information to press for. 

Lorenz slept as Cassiopeia outlined the most important points of the regulations that dictated the exact functions and abilities of a proxy. After an hour, they recounted all they had reviewed and took a moment to decompress before the Roundtable would convene in a half hour.

There was a tap on his forehead.

“Sleeping on the job?” Claude was leaning over him, on his knees. His face was too rigid despite the smile— his apprehension obvious. “Your morale support is _greatly_ appreciated.”

“Get off the floor, you will ruin your new clothing.” Lorenz answered him. 

“Right.” He didn’t move away. “Give me something— advice, or encouragement.”

Lorenz used two fingers to push him away by the chin so he could sit upright. Claude leaned on his heels, looking expectant.

_They have briefed him on the actual details and policies… now he needs social refinement._

“Read directly from your briefing papers if you must: choose concise speech over confident blathering.” He knew most of the Lords looked down on Claude’s casual manner of speaking, and Claude knew it as well: but it could not be resolved in the time they had. “Do not force yourself to speak beyond your verbal range to try and exert an air of authority. It is true, you need some training in diction: today is not the day. And if my father harasses you, stick strictly to protocol. Hold your tongue, and give him no leverage to stage a dispute. I promise, it will make him far angrier than any quip, and look better on you. Concede to him when you can spare it, to maintain order.”

“That’s all really good advice. Now the encouragement.”

“You are not ready.” Lorenz said flatly. Claude twisted his face in disappointed agreement. “But that is when you have always shone brightest. This is no battle; your opponents cannot be duped or poisoned. There are no disguises. Your allies cannot jump from the galleries to defend you— else I would.” Lorenz took up Claude’s hand, bringing it to his lips while he considered his next words carefully. 

“…It is no battle, but you have watched and learned more than you can remember just now: it will come naturally to you when you are in the seat. And you do belong in that seat Claude von Riegan. Remember that if your courage fails you.”

“Right.” Claude nodded. “It means a lot, to hear you say that. Now, something more invigorating.”

“Ah.” Lorenz finally caught on. He looked around. Cassiopeia and Morven were attending to several stacks of papers needlessly, looking elsewhere and busying themselves. He thought it was inappropriate, but Claude clearly wanted distraction more than anything. Lorenz lowered his voice, leaning closer and tilting his head. 

“Did I not invigorate you last night?”

“Mm. Remind me.” He hummed.

“You would ask for more, here? What more can I do… my Golden Deer?” Claude heartened immensely, confidence now warming his smile.

“That’s plenty.” Claude began to draw away. Lorenz did not release him. 

“Is it? I can spare a little more… Now…” He kissed him on his forehead, then next to his ear. “…And again tonight.” 

“Huh.” Claude pulled away, standing, hand grazing over the sash at his waist. He chewed his lip. “You should go to the gallery before you get me in trouble.”

“Of course.” Lorenz made his way for the door, not before passing far too close to Claude to enjoy again the new cologne.

“Wish me luck.”

“When have you ever relied on luck?”


	50. Rountable: Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated 03-18-2020!

The sudden worsening of the Duke’s illness, and the fact that it was concealed from the public, meant that no one had been informed of his declaring a proxy. When the moment was growing near for the Duke to appear from the hall, Claude strode from it’s depths to uprising murmurs. The three senior Great Lords looked to one another; Lysithea looked to Claude, then into the audience toward Lorenz; he motioned back to Claude, trying to insinuate an explanation was forthcoming. Count Gloucester became visibly disturbed, while Edmund leaned over, no doubt whispering him to not make an arrogant fool of himself.

For all the tension, Lorenz was enraptured by Claude’s change in demeanor. He wondered if his new look was planned for just this occasion. It seemed to put years on his age; highlighting the nearly two years that had passed, graceful maturing Lorenz failed to notice in his precarious familiarity with Claude. Now, approaching the round table all in gold and yellows, ‘buttoned up’ against his personal taste for loose collars, serious as he so rarely was: he looked like the leader Lorenz never expected. Up until he returned to the gallery, Lorenz had been nervous: now he was inspired. 

The mood of the auditorium was unsettled: the general audience had no means to know if this could be the announcement of the Duke’s death. If deceased, how— by illness or by attack? There could be a natural cause for a quiet end or means to incite a civil war.

Everyone leaned forward when Claude moved the Duke’s chair to the side, breathing in deep to make an announcement.

“Due to a summer cold, the Duke has lost his voice. As a precaution, he has confined himself to Riegan Hall to recover for the Fifth Day. He has assigned me by proxy to continue hearing disputes on domestic affairs, and to bring grievances back to him for judgment.”

The room relaxed. Everyone excepting count Gloucester.

“And your witness’s?” He demanded coldly.

“Lady Cassiopeia of House Lanelle, Adviser and Senior Guard to the Duke; and Morven, Adviser and Senior Butler to the Duke. Both were present for the assignment.” Claude motioned to Cassiopea and Morven where they flanked the Lord’s Hall entrance.

“Morven? No house name? What kind of witness is _he_?” The Count again challenged him.

“He was only appointed adviser to the Duke in the early hours of the morning. It has not been formally instated yet, but he is qualified.” Claude planned for the Count to challenge him, deciding by Lorenz’s counsel that accommodating him would better facilitate the proceedings. Lorenz prepared to testify to Claude’s swearing himself. They hoped to avoid such a show of solidarity, but in the short time they had options were few. “I can provide additional witness if—”

Edmund cleared his throat to speak.

“That will be unnecessary: I can personally attest to Master Morven’s validity as senior staff for the Duke— I have met him privately with the Duke during many dealings, and that will suffice by our own statutes, which I remind _everyone_ allows an established servant to act as witness.” Lord Edmund confirmed.

“Second that.” Lord Goneril added. “Bringing our total up to two witness’s and two confirmations. Let’s get on with it, Gloucester.” Claude was surprised to receive support from Lord Goneril, but he supposed it was not out of character for him to defy the Count at every opportunity. Only Edmund was neutral, and only the former Lord Ordelia was ever cowed by the Count.

“Thank you, Lord Edmund, Lord Goneril. Are there any other objections?” Claude surveyed the table.

“Okay. We will continue with Domestic Affairs, standard Third Day’s procedure..” He seated himself, turning over the first page of the Duke’s order of business.

“Before we proceed, and before anyone departs, I was instructed to remind everyone of the Fourth Day’s Banquet. Per tradition, a feast will be held at the Riegan Estate tomorrow beginning at noon. In the past, this event has been optional: but The Duke insists all Head of Houses Major and Minor attend. In light of the state of the continent, it is more important than ever to remind ourselves that we stand together, not as Lords or politicians, commoners or merchants, but as an autonomous nation with mutual goals.”

“On to business. Typically grievances are filed and heard by alphabetical order of the plaintiff, but in consideration of the same few parties being responsible for a majority of grievances, we will hear them in order of House Defendant, from least grievances to most.” Claude read from the Duke’s own handwriting, but it would not suffice for Count Gloucester.

“Your idea? Your position as proxy does not give you the authority to alter the method of the proceedings.” The Count accused.

_He’s going to be like that. Great. Well. If offending him the other day was bad, humiliating him here should put the nail in my coffin._ Claude wished he could look to Lorenz, but he sat directly behind him: even a glance would require him to lean out of his chair and swivel his head like a distracted child.

“I am reading directly from the Duke’s own order of business, which continues the altered method of proceedings he established yesterday. I apologize that we cannot call a recess so that you can personally verify the Duke’s order, but he is not taking guests at the moment. Further objections?” It was an insolent gamble. The audience, protected by the dark of the auditorium, chanced a low laugh at the Count’s expense.

“Continue in that manner, and there will not BE a Fifth Day.” Gloucester spat at Claude under his breath.

“Count, I will remind you that openly threatening other Lords at the Roundtable is treason punishable by stripping of your title.” Lord Edmund said by rote; clearly not the first time.

The Count’s face spelled his utter indifference: that he could not be dismissed without repercussions, and so would not be ejected at all. But he held his tongue.

_This day is going to run over. _

* * *

It was fortunate Claude’s scope as proxy was so limited, but more so that the Duke’s absence set limitations on the remaining Roundtable Lords as well. Claude could only hear defenses, make his own notes, separate from the Duke’s personal transcriber. He could ask questions, as could the other Lords; but none could draw conclusions, make accusations, or rule without the Duke present. This left very little room for the Count to continue his complaints. It found Lord Goneril reprimanded several times for loudly drawing conclusions that should not be heard until ruling. Even Edmund, seeming benevolently neutral, was technically influencing the other great Lords._ Everyone at this table has their quirks that should have them thrown out for disorder. This is ridiculous. _Claude understood now, at least partially, why Lysithea would not keep her seat.

Edmund kept the Count and Lord Goneril in check; Lysithea stayed quiet for any issues that fell outside of Ordelia: not too proud to admit her ignorance. Claude found himself lacking any of his own questions: the Duke had thought of everything, even before hearing the aggrieved Lord’s statements and their opponent Lord’s defenses. He was literally acting as the Duke’s voice._ I didn’t think he was even investigating that much. I’ve underestimated him._ He took a little pride in his grandfather’s cunning and precision. He smiled to know it’s where his mother got it all from. 

Lorenz was invested in the proceedings, but distracted. Each time Claude spoke, his heart beat faster, waiting for a misstep in speech. It was unfounded; all of the blunders he made when speaking day to day were absent. He knew Claude was flexible, but to change his manner of speaking in mere hours was no small achievement. Though at times it was clear he was reading the Duke’s words line for line, it was otherwise like listening to a new man speak in Claude’s voice, and it excited him with every successful statement. _There are still enough quirks that the other Lords will find reason to doubt him, due to his… “lineage.” It must change before he becomes Duke._

They ran through the beginning of the Duke’s order of proceedings quickly: minor Lords all, about half failed to return from the day before. Morven was right: they had been spooked, running back to their land or benefactors to avoid being exposed, tried and executed in the same day… which mere contract breaking didn’t call for, and had not happened in a hundred years. _If they are traitors, however… Now we know which Houses to put pressure on._ Lorenz was impressed.

As they continued, the presentations grew longer, as each requisite House had more plaintiff’s by design of the Duke’s list.

Finally, noon came. They ran into the lunch hour by fifteen minutes before adjourning for their recess; Lorenz left early, making his way to the ready room before the lobby could fill with wagging tongues. Perhaps they would think he was going to see his father in his own office, but it seemed there were still some stubborn rumors about he and Claude.

He found the door locked. Lorenz had cursed Lalia’s absence many times, but now especially: she could let him in easy. There were no insets in the long hall that could offer cover while he waited, but trying to return when the auditorium adjourned properly would not do either. He would just have to hope no one would come into the hall, or if they did, they would not care.

_I could wait near my father’s door. It would not be suspect; it could actually start rumors of my collusion against Claude and House Riegan. Tenable, unless my father arrives. I have not even began to consider how to approach him._ He checked his options, deciding to wait somewhere in between, where both doors would be visible.

Claude must have predicted Lorenz’s plan: he walked as fast as he could without taking to a sprint, far ahead of the other Lords. There were other’s waiting at the halls lobby-end for permission to enter, but they would not be close enough to tell if Lorenz and Claude’s meeting was amiable or no; and few would care to take note, being older gentleman who did not care for gossip. Unlocking the door, he let Lorenz in as quickly as possible.

Cassiopeia and his guard tried to follow, but Claude stopped them.

“We must speak privately. No one is to enter for any reason.”

She was not pleased, but nodded and obeyed. Lorenz locked the door himself, then hurried to Claude where he now stood behind the desk, sorting out papers.

“You were exquisite! I thought my heart might stop several times, but you have truly transformed your demeanor. I could not be more elated.” He took Claude’s shoulder.

“It was…” Claude let out a long breath. “It was so hard.” He sniffed, then straightened up.

“I am sure; I was so worried I would need to testify for your appointment, and those few seconds were unbearable. I cannot imagine… It really takes the romantic veneer from my daydreams of sitting at the table.” Lorenz pulled his hands away from Claude’s shoulders, sliding them to rest at his waist. “You were so confidant… after the first hour.”

“Haha, yeah… I was really stiff for a while. It’s like nothing I imagined, either. I can’t believe I’m really going to have to do this some day.” Claude took Lorenz’s arms at the elbows. “I’m glad I couldn’t see you, though. It would have been obvious; I would have looked at you begging for some kind of guidance. I looked at Hilda from time to time, but she looked so confused it only made me more nervous.”

“Ah, and if you could see me, what would I do? Signal your options by finger count? Lick my lips to bring you thoughts of a more pleasant atmosphere—”

“Mm. Something like that.” Lorenz tilted his head in, placing his forehead on Claude’s

“I leaned forward in my seat the entire time. I moved to the end of the bench, craned my neck. I could only see your arm jutting out: I have never been so invested in your elbow.”  
Claude laughed aloud at this, genuinely, releasing the last of his tension. He had to turn away, but Lorenz pursued him, pulling him in closer.

“Mmm. Where are you going? Did you not need to speak with me about something urgent?”

“Ahh, no, I just wanted to be away from people for a few minutes. I can’t do this right now.” Claude laughed.

“I must insist… I never thought I might feel quite so…” Lorenz saw Claude in a new light, irresistible in his new role. “Your authority does you justice. It looks good on you... I find such power very appealing.” He dropped his voice low to make clear his meaning.

“Is that so? That was your plan the whole time, huh? It was all about my power.” Claude grinned devilishly.

“I knew you were no good.”

“I have been caught.” Lorenz pulled away dramatically. “But you are correct; I have much to attend to in the next hour. I must console Jericho, and tease out what it is he is not telling us of Morley’s motives.”

“Right. Morley is one of three other Lords being interviewed tomorrow… and one of the contenders for the seat after the recess. I’m not looking forward to it.”

“We will hope the truth becomes clear in the next hours. For now.” Lorenz tilted Claude’s chin up, imparting a brief peck. “Back to work.”

“I guess. We can relax a little tomorrow.”

“Only tomorrow? I am beginning my holiday as soon as we cross out of this damned Council Hall. You said something of street parties and disguises?”

“I did… I’ll see what I can do.”

They drew apart. Lorenz opened the door cautiously, to ask Cassiopeia if the hall was fairly clear, only to find her absent. Galen and Devar waited across the hall, but they did not understand his questioning glance, and the armored guards were useful as statues.

With no line of sight, he bid Claude farewell and slipped out of the room, hoping for the best.

His luck was poorly.

Cassiopeia was not far down the hall being harassed by Count Gloucester. Not far enough to avoid being seen slipping from the Duke’s Ready room, while all of the guards unceremoniously waited outside. They all turned on him. Though he had been calm before, he flushed at the attention, painting him guilty of the worst things they could imagine.

Lorenz straightened himself nonetheless, then turned to Morven.

“We are going now. Come.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Lorenz walked ahead; Morven motioned to Cassiopeia so Lorenz himself would not need to gain his father’s undivided attention.

“Lorenz, wait.” Count Gloucester called to him.

“The recess is short, Count, I must be on my way.” The last words were barely out of his mouth before he was walking away at a frantic clip.

“Lorenz Hellman Gloucester!” His father demanded, only a thin veneer of dignity concealing his rage at being ignored.

Lorenz continued walking. It was not the first time he defied his father, but it was the first time he did so without proper excuse, roundabout, or feigning ignorance— and the first time with an audience. He knew his father would be too dignified to chase him, but that he might suffer for it later.

_Too close. I need more time. I have avoided thinking of him, speaking of him for two months now. I cannot handle the stress; not without Lalia._ He realized that, even at the banquet, Lalia would need to remain ‘locked away:’ he nearly forgot that to the public, she was under arrest. _Well. Claude will be nearby._ He realized, again, that would cause it’s own issues. So far from home and his own loyal servants he left behind in Gloucester, it only left one person Lorenz could rely on who could be there without undue suspicion: Morven.

_At least we will be at the Riegan Estate. It may offer some security._

Lorenz departed for the Anderton home for his dreaded task of prying into Jericho's personal life. 


	51. Motive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-18-2020! This chapter marks a very drastic change in storyline from the original :)

Lorenz arrived at the Anderton House with only half an hour to spare for conversation. Morven he left to attend the horses— too many unscrupulous types that would steal them straight from the hitching fence. When the city was so busy, everyone became reckless, especially thieves with easy cover.

He knocked lightly. The house, unchanged, seemed more hollow, more drab. Though they arrived unannounced, a man who looked only like a specter of Jericho greeted him without surprise. All Jericho could manage was a silent nod, leading Lorenz up into the library where the curtains had been drawn, lanterns lit even in midday.

"Cassiopeia, please guard the door.” Lorenz instructed.   
When they sat down, Jericho began to fidget where he sat behind his desk. He finally found his voice in the dim room.

“Welcome, Lorenz. Sorry for my reclusivity; I am not well, as you can imagine.” Deep, dark circles ran under his eyes; yet he looked pleased with himself, even forgetting title and decorum.

“Thank you for letting me in without notice… I wanted to see to your condition. I know this has all been very difficult for you.”

“Difficult in some ways, yes. But with them gone, I have accepted my fate. Without fear, I’ve been able to get more done at the bank while everyone is distracted with the Roundtable.”

“Oh…? Have you found anything new?” Lorenz asked slowly. He was disturbed by Jericho’s surety that he was not long for this world: by all accounts, if he stopped behaving suspiciously, he should be safer now that the girls were gone, their crests registered, and House Riegan at his back.

What made Lorenz more uneasy is that he felt it too. Like Jericho’s funeral had already been announced, hearsay on the wind.

“The Benettos vaults: only the head vault was alarmed, as you mentioned. The rest were not. If they were, what does it matter? I found family rolls dating back two centuries, and strange tools. I could not describe them if I tried, but some of them were not unlike a crest analyzer.”

What use the information might be, Lorenz could not elucidate: he would need to see the rolls or the items, and neither seemed to be present. Worse, neither was useful enough to endanger a man’s life. He tried to steer the conversation away.

“That is all… very interesting. But it would not do well for you to risk yourself unnecessarily. I assure you, we will take these matters into our own hands. What concerns me presently are Morley’s motives, that we might build evidence against him. It seems you have been none to honest with us about your..._ ties_ with Lord Morely."

Jericho’s face fell from his brief mania. He opened and closed his mouth, started, and then stopped. He leaned back into his chair. Lorenz waited patiently; sure that information he would withhold even when fearing for his life must be difficult to recount.

"I... I don't know where to start." He ran his hand over his thinning hair.

"Let us start with his obsession with you... You are aware that he has some amorous feelings for you."

"Ah... Yes, that was a long time ago. I believed he had moved on... a stupid conclusion."

"So this is no continuing affair?"

"No! We stopped _meeting_ long before I married. The position at the bank came open, and with a child and a baby, I took it. I thought I would never meet with or see Morley— he is the owner, better things to do. I didn't know he was at the bank daily… that he lured me in with an inflated salary.” The bags under his eyes seemed to deepen. “Even when he began to harass me, I thought it was bygone: that his remarks and so on were made in jest. I bore it: the money was too enticing.”

"I see."

"Eventually I figured out that wasn't the case... He began to visit the house. He was kind to my wife— she became smitten with 'Uncle Rowan,' the disingenuous man who never existed before he met my daughters. This was seven years ago, when Dina was five and Gala was two."

"Odd. Was it your daughters he was concerned with?"

"Yes. I thought I could hide Dina's crest; the money was more necessary than ever as my wife became sickly. She was too weak to travel— not that there was anywhere else to go. I let him dote on the girls as infrequently as possible, and the attitude at work stopped. I became comfortable with my discomfort. I thought perhaps I was just being paranoid; maybe he had changed and merely wanted to play Uncle."

Something did not add up still: why they would stop 'meeting' at all.

Naturally, Lorenz could understand a Lord cutting off such a relationship: to procreate, siring heirs that would not be looked down upon by the other nobility. But for Jericho to reject Morley made no sense: being without crest or power, commoners were not beholden to such stigma.

"Jericho... this is a sensitive question. You may decline to answer it, or give your answer a margin of secrecy to maintain your dignity. But I feel there is something you are still withholding. Why would you end an amiable relationship with a man higher in status? Would it not have been beneficial even to marry?"

This gave Jericho pause. He leaned forward, hands running again over his head.

"This takes all of my muster, Lord Lorenz. It is humiliating to say aloud, and I have been trying to forget his proposition for over a decade."

"You have my word: I will not convey this even to my associates, but it may aid me in finding a motive and a method to his plans.... I loathe to mention that while you have my full support, your credibility is in question by my benefactors."

"... He.... Morley has a certain obsession with crests, as you know. Our relationship began in earnest— and it was a long and relatively enjoyable relationship. Then he found out that my Great Grandfather had a Minor Daphnel Crest. A fluke, I told him; he was the only bearer in over 75 years, the only one in our family for the duration of his short life; he kept it to himself and nothing of power or title came of it. But the idea was already there.

"He wanted to marry me immediately, days later. I declined; he had already changed. His eyes became greedy: he didn't want me to keep to himself, he wanted to own me, like property. He was so excited when he... ugh." He was unable to continue. He leaned back in his chair a moment, staring into the floor.

"...Take all the time you need Jericho."

Lorenz did not care for secrets. Were it not for his own benefit, he would tell Jericho to forget the matter; but he would not know if it was any use until it was told. It unsettled him to pry the shame of others into the open, to carry the burden of knowledge himself against their wishes. He braced for what he hoped would amount to a trifling matter.

"He invited me to his Estate. He thought... I would be excited with all the women he brought, 'to make children with.' He wanted to make a child, with a crest, for us to have together. He truly believed that's why I wouldn't marry him: children. 'The women and the other children born will be inconsequential,' he said— we only needed one. There were so many— where do you buy people like that?"

Lorenz folded into his hands, considering the many implications. It meant Jericho’s imperilment did not start and end with his daughters: being witness to such unflinching depravity made him a threat to Morley’s character; what Jericho knew and saw could put the man out of the country; to say nothing of his Roundtable bid. 

"....Revolting." Lorenz managed to utter at last.

"He wanted me to be a stud so he could finally have a crest bearing heir. His elevation to Lord came with his father, and he is terrified of losing it without crest status to support it. I ran. I was a coward, and I put it all to the back of my mind. I do not know what happened to the women. And now... my two daughters, made in earnest love and affection with my late wife, are exactly what he had hoped for. I fear as much that in the way that I was breeding stock for his obsession, the same will befall my them."

"Eugh..." Lorenz felt weak. He had hoped, somehow, that what Jericho was hiding would be more polite: embarrassing, but bearable in scope. He regretted that such people existed, and was suddenly not so remorseful that the Benettos might be signature to Morley's death warrant. Morley's reputation was otherwise infallible, his home a fortress to any spies, the best maids only able to gather half-heard conversations and cries of passion.

_Excepting the group action against his bank, he is flawless to the public. I should bring Jericho into protection, at the Riegan Estate. He cannot possibly stay here alone any longer. Guards are not enough— Yet it would tie Claude to the vault break-ins now. Foolish man!_

Lorenz stood a little to quickly, ready to be done with the affair.

“Forgive me for this intrusion. Your admission was very illuminating, and gives me some lead on how we might corner Morley.” Lorenz was across the room. He assured Jericho from the open doorway. ”I will see to it that you are sent more guard. Perhaps we might even send you away— but for now, do not interfere anymore with the Bank’s affairs.”

“It does not matter” was Jericho’s only response. Lorenz urged Cassiopeia on and out, disturbed and ready to be back in the warm Council Hall to fret again over Claude’s carrying voice. 


	52. Roundtable: Day Three, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited 03-18-2020

The run over recess found the hall half empty when everyone should have been returned. The glossy tables absent their minor Lords, dotted with reflected lamplights made the hall seem almost inviting: if only it was not host to the turmoils of the nation.

Lorenz leaned, quite gracelessly, on the dividing wall in front of him: watching and waiting for Claude to return from the Lord’s Hall. Only his father had returned to the table on time, staring daggers into the Riegan Galleries while Lorenz pretended not to notice.

_Heavens. As though I did much of anything at the Estate that he need harass me for attention; I was only a titled pawn of his. I have taken his best piece away, I suppose._ Lorenz sat upright: he had not realized before what part he played. Always busy brooding over his father’s orders and his inability to defy them, he considered that merely being absent was crippling the Count. The new perspective set his mind to work considering the ways tactical absence— even after returning to Gloucester— might let him sway his father by tying his hands. By merely refusing to be present. 

The thought of such disobedience thrilled him so, he missed Claude’s return until the gavel was landed and the Roundtable reconvened.

* * *

Claude waited for the Lord’s making their bid for the seat to be sorted. Though Morley still faced inquiry, there was not time left in the day for him and the other Lords to be questioned: they would be tried on the fifth day and the final vote cast after.

Many minor and incontinent Lords made the first bids for the seat of Ordelia: the good Lords who might truly have the county’s best interests at heart, but were too economically inconsequential to make their ideals reality. Claude admired them, but felt sorry that the system wasn’t built for their good intentions: something he intended to remedy.

Following were more powerful Lords, most of them from Ordelia, who Lysithea herself had dismissed. House Everlionne, recommended by the Duke, presented their bid: it was reasonable, neutral, placid. While they were the most stable choice, any house that could cause a commotion by making sweeping and unreasonable promises that stirred the Lords would easily displace them. Many Lords who submitted their name in on the second day were absent… no doubt after the Duke’s display, cowed by their cowardice. They skipped over five names and carried on: those who felt they were being cornered and left Derdriu prematurely.

Everything was drab, until it come time for Lord Adalius to pose his bid.

“A fine day for speeches!” Despite his try at amiability, he seemed to be all tooth and claw. The man was made of sharp edges, the same command as the Duke, but with threat behind it. “Many of you here do not know me— I am Lord Adalius Benettos! My House resides at the intersection of Ordelia, Riegan, and Gloucester at the historic Chateau Benettos. We have remained obscure, trading largely in arcana and information: magical study, the duplication of books and scrolls, enchanting of weapons, and textual imports from Morfis.” _And crests of dead men_, Claude thought dryly, the horror of it starting to fade in his mind. Adalius continued with their myriad investments.

“I will take up the seat of Ordelia to contend with those ill-mannered Houses that border it in the Empire: Houses that have no standard for ethics or dignity for their fellow man. Even crossing the border to practice their foul magic on those in the Alliance.” Claude was taken aback; he looked to Lysithea, who had mentioned corrupt empire houses herself. She was fixated on Adalius; both awed and terrified. _What does he know?! What is she not telling me…?_ The audience was ill at ease hearing such an accusation.

“We cannot abide these demons at our gates! Should, Goddess forbid, the Empire turn it’s eye on the Alliance for more than trade, a strong and ruthless front should give them second thought! I am no known and loved Lord, but I can boast numbers: my Household alone totals two hundred and eight elders, descendants, cousins and more. We take our lead from House Goneril, believing that family is the key to a strong County. Let us install along our southern border the same defenses that have kept Almyra at bay: an extensive and competent household.” He complimented Duke Goneril, who was easily swayed when their strange way of life was shown respect.

_More fear mongering. Exactly what we need._ Claude thought _…But is there any truth to it? _

“I thank you all for your confidence.” Adalius moved to vacate the pulpit.

“Pardon, Lord Adalius.” Margrave Edmund recalled him. “It is standard procedure to proof your crest if you have one. The absence of a crest will not disqualify anyone, we remind, but it is courtesy.”

“Of course— you must excuse my unfamiliarity with procedure. Observe.” He held his fist out over the podium he dwarfed, revealing the crest of Timotheos to the Great Lords directly, before lifting his hand overhead so that the whole audience might see it. There were gasps, calls to the Goddess and the saints. The stadium reeled, a low roar of disbelief. Claude let them discuss for a few moments before hitting the gavel: newly installed for his lack of a carrying voice.

Lorenz was not surprised. Though he briefly considered Adalius might conceal his crest to seem more unassuming, his powerful speech made it clear: he feared no scrutiny, encouraged the attention. Lorenz only wondered what he would do when the attention of Lords and spies of every sort fell on him. _Nothing good._ Claude struck his gavel one last time as the audience regained their composure.

“Thank you Lord Adalius.” He said without the incredulity that had swept the rest of the room.

“Lord Riegan.” Adalius bowed slightly, keeping eye contact; he knew Lorenz had shared more detailed knowledge of their house with Claude, and managed to intimate his power even through deference.

He plied his knowledge of Empire affairs expertly, along with the careful insinuation that he knew what was at stake in the coming open conflict. His threatening demeanor was off putting, but now it would seem an asset when pitted against “evil” Empire Houses. Claude wasn’t sure what he could do to stop him winning in a landslide if the Major Lords pooled their votes against the Great Lords.

Morley approached: the only other man who had a proper claim and the power to back it up: in a nation of commerce, money usually spoke louder than fear… or sense.

“For those of you not from Derdriu proper, I am Lord Rowan Edgar Morley, founder of the Central Bank.” He prattled on a little too long about his father founding the bank, his pride and his genius. It would impress Lords lower than him— which were numerous— but would not sit well with the equal or higher Lords: a gamble.

“I am not concerned with the Empire or their affairs: it is a waste of worry and resources! They have invested much in our economy, the likes of which has not been seen in a century. Given the seat in Ordelia, I will move a secondary branch to the South— where such a bank is much needed, and oversight based on profit models, not special interests and biased ties. As we saw with Lord Berla, such interests could easily cripple the Alliance.” Morley grew more confident with each claim. His own arguments bolstered him.

“A neutral institution could help Southern Leicester prosper by offering regulation and security nearer neglected trade routes. Our prosperity could rise tenfold if we can have a second center of commerce in the South. Should some of you still harbor concerns about some claims of conflict, I assure you creating a robust economy in Ordelia can provide more wealth to fund our defenses, will attract more people to the South to work in service as knights, and can provide for them a life and livelihood protecting the Southern Border. A resilient economy with or without conflict is most important. Thank you for your consideration.”

Claude _wanted_ to vote for him, even knowing what suspicious behavior he was tied up in, and that he might move the bank just to seize power: it was a good plan and would actually benefit the Alliance. It was a strong argument against Adalius. They were evenly matched: Adalius for force and Morley for practicality.

“And you do not possess a crest?” Edmund clarified.

Morley looked around the room.

“That has been common knowledge, but for reasons of propriety I have kept my crest to myself. For accountability, I will gladly share it now.”

Claude felt ill; miserable dread rose up in him, as it always did when devastating information came to him natural instead of through his informants. He leaned forward in his seat.

“I have a Crest of Daphnel. I apologize— I have never been capable of summoning it on sight. I would like to offer my proof should I be elected— but it requires some preparation.” He managed a sympathetic smile. “It does not get much practice in my work as a Lord Banker.” There was a polite laugh in the auditorium.

“I understand; accommodations can be arranged at a later time. Thank you, Lord Morley.” Edmund dismissed him, still filling the gaps in Claude’s experience of procedure.

Claude’s ears were ringing for the rest of the Roundtable: _he’s still planning to take Dina and Gala, for their crests. He’s gambling high; we need to tie him to the Benettos, to Adalius. That’s why… I need to get in touch with Judith, Leonie. They’re all in danger._


	53. Street Fair, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Added 03-18-2020

The sun was low, the bids for the Roundtable having run over just as the morning session and the recess before. Lorenz was preoccupied with worry at Morley’s bold declaration of possessing a crest of Daphnel. He was sure Claude came to the same conclusion: that he might have more ties to the Benettos than mere secret bank vaults, that he had every intention of stealing a crest for himself._ He’s clearly willing to do whatever necessary to gain a crest, and to pass it on. Are crests that the Benettos transfer… hereditary?_ While he meandered toward the Council halls exit, he wracked his mind trying to imagine how Morley planned to get his hands on Dina and Gala— or perhaps he already had and news had not reached them yet. 

When Lorenz emerged from the council hall, he was briefly distracted by the city sights: lanterns were being lit, orange light bounding across the dark water of the canals much like they had across the empty council tables. He felt it should be a metaphor, for something, but would let the thought meander for now to put down in words later. The streets were beginning to fill with finely dressed citizens: readying themselves for another night of celebration. What they were celebrating was lost on Lorenz. The money flowing into the city, perhaps, but the Roundtable itself was going dreadfully. How lovely it must be to not care about political affairs. He smiled at the long persistent fantasy he had of being blissfully ignorant and joining the revels.

“You’re smiling… thinking of me?” Claude asked, too close and too loud. 

“Finally escaped the inquisition?” Lorenz asked in turn: Claude had been bombarded in the lobby by commoners and lower Lords all around.

“They’re uncertain. I wish there was more I could do.” Claude sighed. ”Come on, let’s go back to the hall.”

“If only we could join the festivities directly: it is already beginning.” Lorenz had intended to return to Riegan Hall, but something about the way the air cooled in the sunset and the darkening streets warmed with lamplight made him too eager to delay. “But yes, we must worry now about the Anderton children.”

“Worry is all we can do: Judith intentionally left me out of her travel plans. They’re going back along a secluded route— I can only send a falcon-cardinal to the Daphnel estate. I’ll send people out in every direction, but _we_ have to wait.” He brooded for a moment just as Lorenz did, but there was no better course of action they could take yet.

“As for the street fairs… Nothing fun begins until after midnight.” Claude began to steer him down the steps roughly. Lorenz made a point to snap at him to throw off suspicions of any stragglers that remained. “And you aren’t going like _that_. You can’t enjoy such base activities when you look like a Lord. Hilda is meeting us at the Hall, too.”

“… Hilda is coming?” 

“Yep.”

“Hmph.” He turned his nose up, but his pace towards the horses quickened. Lorenz mounted his horse and left with Cassiopeia and Morven, before Claude could follow too closely.

“Ahh… he’s so easy.”

  
* * *

  
“I’m not wearing THAT!” 

Lorenz threw the ‘disguise’ onto the dresser: it was insulting, revealing, nothing of a disguise as much as an exhibition. He was a little remorseful: the embroidery and beading were exquisite, patterning in roses, baby’s breath, laced with vines and leaves; fine, sheer silk in a gorgeous red. But he would much rather see it on Hilda. 

“You are abusing my earnest desire to enjoy myself for your own schemes!”

“What?! Your face is covered, and so is your hair… unless… you’re worried about someone recognizing your _body_… Something you’re not telling me, Lorenz?” Claude cackled, holding up the dancer’s robes. “They’re even your size.”

“You know well I am not concerned about-about— I’ve never— The reasons you might have something custom made to my size ready for wear is contemptible! Dancing is a noble profession and you mock it with your lust!”

“Hmm.” Claude didn’t deny it; he only look deflated. Lorenz tried to soften his rebuke, but he was far from finished admonishing Claude’s lack of foresight. To think he would wear such a thing in the streets.

“You forget I am taller than most: I must not draw attention. Too close a look and it will become clear it is the very same Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, future Count. I will_ not_.” He finished.

“… Fine. But wear it for me later?”

“NO!” He denied Claude reflexively. It was too perverse. To reward Claude for making such a ludicrous request… it would create a bad habit. 

But he was sure the robes would remain nearby.

In case.

“Damn.” Claude gave in.

Hilda arrived just as Claude shook out the dancer robes to hang them back up: wearing her own set of men’s dress robes that did nothing to hide her bosom, her hair put up into some bizarre, foreign hat of every color. Out of breath; she slammed the door behind her.

“I lost my chaperones but they know where I’m— OOoooh! Is that for _me_?!” She bounded over to Claude, rolling the fine cloth in her fingers.

“If only he had the foresight, Hilda, but no. He expected me to wear those—” Lorenz placed his fingertips over his mouth to stop himself: he did not mean to put such an image in her head.

“That’s not fair… It’s not even your color!” She took up his hand casually and draped the satin sheer over it. “Oh! Maybe I’m wrong… but you always look so nice in iris and lavender. And gold, gold suits you.”

“H-Hh— you truly believe so?” Lorenz reminded himself to have his next set of armor fashioned per her advice.

“Oh yes— but this deep lustrous red looks really _nice_ with your eyes. And it would match your rose brooch!” She wasn’t _wrong_.

“If it were not so revealing, so flashy I might wear a portion of it… if you think it is suited to me.”

Claude coughed: loud, irritated. Hilda caught his signal, and began to manipulate Lorenz, playing on his doting infatuation. If it got him into the dancer robes, Claude was glad for it. Just this once.

“Maybe you could wear a shirt. And the headscarf, and maybe just this waist part.” Hilda sorted through Lorenz’s own dress clothes he had brought to Claude’s room. “Here! Put all this on!”

She waited, expecting him to change just then.

“E-excuse me.” He scurried to the lavatory, Claude laughing behind his back.

“You couldn’t convince him to wear just the robes?” He teased, taking her hand.

“Pick your battles, Claude, even I’m not going to get him to dress that sexy.”

“Sexy?”

Hilda rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, Claude, that _was_ your intention. You aren’t fooling anyone. Goddess.” She deflected him.

“… Am I fooling the public, you think?”

“Maybe. I don’t talk to _those type_ unless it gets me something. You know how I feel about Derdrians.”

“I’m a Derdrian, Hilda.”

“Nck! Right, and I’m from Brigid! You’re a Riegan first.” She stepped back, appreciating his Almyran merchant getup. “A handsome one, but don’t you think it’s a bit on the nose?”

“Naaah, I’ve seen a lot of merchants who could pass as an uncle or a brother. Besides, Fodlaners think Almyrans all look alike.”  
  
While Claude tried on his best Almyran-accented-Fodlanish, pretending to sell phony gold idols to Hilda’s rising giggles, the door to the lavatory opened.

“Hilda. Is this how you meant for it to be worn?” Lorenz peeked from behind the door. He emerged slowly, embarrassed still even with the layers over him: no matter what was underneath, the robes were expertly made to inspire the imagination. Hilda drew in a sharp breath. The veil over his hair fell off unceremoniously.

“Oh, pity. Would you assist me? In all my time here I have not made the opportunity to seek a decent trim. Without Lalia, I am unsure what to do with it.” He picked the veil up and brought it to Hilda. 

“Sure. Sit down.”

Claude watched the way Hilda combed her fingers through his hair excessively, playing with it instead of arranging it. Lorenz’s ears were red, and when she brushed her finger tips across the back of his neck, Claude could almost feel the pleasured tingle himself as Lorenz’s downy hair stood on end. His eyes closed now; Claude silent, Hilda distracted, they lingered far too long as a quiet longing filled the air in every direction. 

Claude could not watch any longer. Nudging her to the side, he took the veil and pinned it in place himself, neatly tucking Lorenz’s hair underneath.

“Oh, that actually looks very nice.” Hilda made it a point to brush her fingers around Lorenz’s hairline, to get back at Claude for his pushiness.

“All that practice fixing up_ your_ hair has come in handy.” He mentioned off hand. Claude waited for Lorenz to react: surely it wouldn’t be lost on him why Claude might be the only person around to fix Hilda’s hair. Lorenz missed the comment from the blood pounding in his ears at Hilda’s touch.

Hilda did not miss it, however, and dropped the teasing air. Her lips turned in, she held his gaze with a serious expression.

“Y-you know, after teaching you to ride wyvern.” Claude added awkwardly.

“Whatever. Let’s go before the chastity belt shows up.” She opened a curtain and peeked out into the front gardens. “We’ll have to go out the back.”

“Chastity belt?” Lorenz asked as Hilda and Claude hurried him from the room.

  
* * *

  
Lorenz had been concerned they might miss something, but the festivities were only beginning, the streets just now filling to their full capacity. People of every stripe— some he only heard about in grand tales— filled the nooks and crannies with tables and upturned hats and buckets for coin: snake handlers, fire eaters, contortionists, magicians both magic and mundane. More than once Claude had to take his shoulder and steer him away from disaster as he was distracted by the sights.

“Lazarus, have you never been to a street festival before?” Claude asked at a shout to be heard over the throng: fabricating a new identity for Lorenz on the spot.

“No. I turned in early during Roundtable weeks, eager for the next day of political intrigue… Cl...Clarence.”

“That’s an awful name!” Claude laughed. “Is this your first time too, Hilbert?”

“Hilbert! Snrk! Really, that’s worse than Clarence!” Hilda laughed, an arm looped through Claude’s to keep abreast of them in the crowd. “I’m never let out at night, so this is my first time! I want my fake name to be Hildebrandt!” Her eyes were as wide as Lorenz’s while she worried over her faux namesake and took in the sights. Claude steered them both from event to event, watching them as they watched the performers. After cheering several final acts, their path through the distractions landed at a tavern with standing room only.

“Did you see the woman who swallowed the snake, but then it returned from behind her back?” Hilda pulled Lorenz and Claude both by the elbow.

“I did!” Lorenz answered. “The trick aside, I had no idea snakes could become so large— perhaps it was a monster of sorts—”

“Wow, you think so?!” They continued rebounding their excitement off one another while Claude ordered drinks: sliding extra coins across the bar so that they would not be served the watered down mead given to out-of-towners. The bartenders eyed him suspiciously, testing the coins several times, holding them up: too much fanfare for copper. 

Eventually the man took his extra coins and still gave him the same poor drink. _An authentic commoner experience it is, then._ Claude was irritated, but more curious to watch Lorenz react to something so piss poor.

“Drinks on me! Don’t expect much, the bartender didn’t like my money.”

“Money is money, what does that mean?” Lorenz, poor spoiled Lorenz couldn’t fathom why money would lose it’s value in the ‘wrong’ hands.

“Never mind, just drink! It won’t taste nice but it will do the job.”

Hilda was already coughing into her stein.

“Eck! What is this Clau- Clarence! It tastes like nail lacquer smells!”

“It’s commoner drink!” Claude tipped his stein back to make a show of bravado, but half way in the bad drink forced its way back up, into the cup. “Hrughh!”

Lorenz neatly waved the cup under his nose, and set it to the side.

"Let us move on." He demanded.

They had better luck wandering out again into the streets: along the market street, open late for the special occasion, the canal was raised and boat vendors floated on level with the promenade. They sold wine by the cup and the bottle, chilled in the canals to combat the heat. 

“Hmm, it has been a while since we shared a bottle of wine.” Hilda said cheerily. Lorenz looked to Claude briefly, recalling the day in the dining hall. Claude winked at him. “I have an acquired taste for white wine now, and a better head for it.” She assured them.

Hilda was already stacking coins in a merchant’s hand for three bottles. Lorenz added more, pointing to a rosé: some name-unknown wine that must— at least, he hoped— taste better than tavern beer. He cringed when the vendor gave them several folded paper cups for their patronage.

“In disguise or no, I will not drink in the street. Where can we go?”

“Well. Alleyways. We would have to go farther out to find a gondola. The Bank Hall’s courtyard is open tonight.” Claude offered.

“I would prefer to steer well clear of the bank.” Lorenz dismissed the option, as well as the alleyway.

“We should find an inn. We can drink there and then sleep there.” Hilda decided. She seemed to think nothing of it, suggesting they share a room.

Lorenz was at first affronted at the thought they might stay anywhere shabby, before the scandal of it became evident: what happened last time they were foolish enough to share room and drink. _But we are more mature now, _he imagined.

Lorenz resolved to at least guard Hilda from the contemptible situation.

“There is a lovely place on Mossweald Street.” Lorenz agreed. “But we must drink lightly; I will escort you home personally, Hilda.” 

“Of course!” Hilda and Claude promised, mischievous in unison.


	54. Street Fair, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Added 03-18-2020.  
Maybe a little too spicy? jk I have no regrets.

Lorenz had a refined preference for inns just as he had for everything else: unfortunately the rooms were booked by the myriad visiting Lords who did not bother to maintain their own apartment in the city, and the many, _many_ wealthy merchants visiting from afar. After an hour, six fine establishments turning them away, Claude scoured side streets until he found somewhere cozy that others might overlook. 

Around enough corners to be easily missed, yet still with only one room vacant, was the Nestled Wyvern Inn. Lorenz paid the man for two hours; Claude added enough for the rest of the night when he turned away. The host was perplexed for a moment, but did not ask questions. He tipped his head to Claude before adding the extra coins to his coffer.

It was not shabby, brighter and bigger on the inside than they could see from the secondary street: Claude had gambled on the quality judging by the price, not wanting to drag the search out longer. It was passed twelve and he was becoming restless with wandering the streets. He was more eager for his hands and tongue to do any further _wandering_; and with four bottles of wine between them, he might have the chance if they drank fast enough: for Lorenz to give in to his earnest desires and Hilda to have cause to blame if she was caught with her pants down. _This is a bad idea_ he considered, briefly… but the room was paid for and unlocked, the wine was too heavy to carry home. 

Obviously.

There was only one solution.

The paper cups dissolved quickly after a single round, and so they each resorted to drinking directly from their own bottle. Lorenz lamented that the cheap wine tasted far better than many established wines he had enjoyed; a regret that kept him bottoms up as often as possible. Hilda nursed her bottle slowly, but the effect was the same: she did not have as much of a head for it as she liked to think. After letting them set the pace, Claude matched their fervor. 

Very little was said at all: more talk of the street performers, one or two crass insults against Lorenz’s father, and Hilda’s too. After a half hour or so, Lorenz began to lose his posture; Hilda spread on the floor like a house cat, propped up just enough to keep the wine flowing, and Claude slumped against the bed frame. He stared at them in turns from under heavy lids, willing them to move closer to one another: in his stupor, he thought he might have gained the power to bend them to his desires with his eyes alone. No such luck.

Instead, Hilda rolled across the carpet, giggling uncontrollably.

“Cclllaaude. I love you.”

“I love you too, Hilda. And Lorenz. As friendsz.Firneduhz. Haha. What a stupid word.”

“Ass friends? No! I love you love you, I love you so much, sometimes I cry about it, I love you.” She scrambled up and looped her arms around his neck. “Kiss meeeee. I miss youuu.”

Claude put his hand over her face, too disoriented to articulate himself, but not so far gone that he thought this was allowed. He remembered, vaguely, Hilda was off limits. He couldn’t remember why. He couldn’t remember why they came here. 

“Mmm. Hilda, I’m _T_oo _T_ired. Kiss Lorenz. You like that, don’t you, that’s what you did the other day in the… in the house.”

“I’ve not had such a pleasure. Liar. Always you lie to Hilda.” Lorenz turned his bottle up one last time, making a small sigh of disgust when it emptied. He reached for Hilda’s untouched second bottle and struggled with the cork until it popped, drizzling a quarter of it’s content onto the floor.

“Fuck.” He said flatly at his ineptitude. After several swigs, he found Hilda near him, petting his leg. 

She looked at him pitifully.

That leftover rival in Lorenz— the part of him that wanted to torment Claude— begged to be petty. Claude turned Hilda away, and she sought him out. _Him_. At his mercy, he might make a show of indulging her just short of inappropriate, just enough to make Claude see what a mess he was making. He did not desire to hurt Claude any longer, but to see the look on his face, mixed jealousy and… something else he could not place. What was he looking for in Claude, were he to accept Hilda’s offer and slide a tentative hand up her leg?

He lingered over the thought only long enough to discredit it: he took Hilda gently around the waist, putting her on her back against the carpet.

“You’re far gone. Lay down for now.”

“Lay down for _what_? Haha…”

“Resting.”

She struggled with him, then clambered onto the bed, pulling him along. 

“Hilda, please. You torture me.”

“C’mon, sleepy boooy! You like beds to sleep in. It’s big enough!”

He settled for the bed’s edge, sitting beside her where she snuggled against him, pulling his arm against her breasts.

“Lorenz, you like Claude allottt, like_ alot_ a lot.”

“Claude? Not even… the best of days make him…. usable.” Even now he liked Claude, the way he struggled to unbutton his shirt while laying on the ground. 

Back and forth, Hilda continued to challenge his affections. She asked bluntly who he liked and how much, running the majority of their peers; he began to fold under her interrogation, giving little hints, hating to lie to her. And the more she asked the more she put hands on him. The more he turned up her bottle of wine and the less he drew away. 

Claude watched from the floor; he lost focus here and there, but for the most part the room did not spin around them if he stared intently enough. He laughed into his bottle as Lorenz became more and more disturbed by Hilda’s attention. 

She lay back across his lap now, toying with his hair. It seemed he had reached his limit for restraint. Claude and Hilda both waited for him to show some sign of passion, to lose it- just a little- just to see what he was like. Whatever jealousies they all nursed while rational had been set aside.

Lorenz sighed. Pained. He carefully slid his fingers, then hands under Hilda’s back to draw her up closer to him: not seized with passion, but gentle, like he was cupping a flower in his palms. 

A beautiful declaration then sprung from him.

Perfect in it’s every inflection, despite his drunkenness.

“I want you so dearly, and I would be conceited to say it is in a way different than your other suitors: that I am any less base in my desires. But I do hold myself to a high standard in my want of you, a standard I cannot presently achieve… I have not won you, and you would short sell yourself to accept me as I am. Oh, I want to treasure you, offer all you deserve and more. I want to keep you well away from strife and fighting, uplift you and protect you. I want so much for you Hilda. Please wait for me. Until I am ready to perform in all the ways I need, to show you, prove to you how utterly captivated you have me. For now, I can barely restrain myself.”

Claude imagined the speech was something Lorenz recited each night before bed— not unlikely. Perhaps each time his head hit the pillow, he practiced his devotion to Hilda for the day it would be needed. It would be wasted on her now, she would not remember, but he recited his desperation all the same.

“I see.” She tucked against him.

“I am only a mortal against your radiance. I would so force my profanity on you if I were a miserable and wretched man; I dream of it and struggle to turn the thought away. I dream of begging for your love; but I will not do it. I will make myself such a man that you cannot help but love me, earnestly and I can only hope half a deeply as I cherish you, Hilda.”

“How deeply?”

He stumbled now, squinting, searching in her eyes for the answer. Now she was asking something he had not recited. He only just stated that he had not done enough, so what proof did he have?

Only in pieces, he remembered. The pink roses from home.

“I… have, this past two years cultivating roses for you— to match your eyes. I've missed the way you look— wanted somewhere to look that would remind me. When they are perfect as you, I will name them for you. Hilda. The world will know how lovely you are, by, by their—” 

Hilda tried to kiss him, but he leaned around her, letting her only graze his cheek. He turned in toward her face, thinking for a moment: a kiss on the cheek returned would be appropriate. Lorenz reached around her, caressing her neck to guide her. She turned in toward the soft stroke of his thumb, and he stole the opportunity to press his lips, apprehensively, near her eyebrow.

Claude was… captivated. Disgusted. He deeply envied Lorenz’s prowess in love and affection— incensed that Lorenz never spared any such gentleness or depth for him. While Lorenz continued to keep his hands at ten and two, only nuzzling Hilda and turning her lips away, Claude let it sink in that this was the only way it _could_ be.

_He_ was only dividing a natural pair. 

It hurt.

It was so painfully obvious.

Claude wanted to lash out and pull them apart, but it was _his_ idea— to drink until stupid— that had made this misery possible.

Regardless, he no longer maintained the faculties to make wise decisions— to let them alone with their romance. They would have the rest of their lives together.

Lorenz’s knees were tucked neatly together; perhaps he thought it was hiding his excitement, but his cock was less polite than his careful words. It creased his pants conspicuously, begging for him to be irrational.

Only Claude seemed to notice. 

While Lorenz and Hilda indulged in their fetish for noble restraint, Claude worked Lorenz’s knees apart. When Lorenz noticed the urging, he opened his legs without question or argument, distracted as he was still whispering slurred, romantic nonsense to Hilda and holding her off. His words became heavier in longing, deeper in breath as Claude stroked him out of his pants. 

Lorenz remained distracted up until the moment he moaned into Hilda’s collarbone: Claude’s lips warming him from tip to torso.

“Ah!"

Hilda had been content to run her hands through his hair; but Claude caught her gaze, looking up at her triumphantly.

“… Thasss not fair.” Hilda tried to reach beneath Claude’s lips and take hold of Lorenz for herself.

“Hilda.” Lorenz stopped her. But his grip was loose, his argument unconvincing. “Not yet… I can be better. I. Uhn…fff- Take Claude.”

Whatever he meant by his vague command to ‘take’ Claude, Hilda did not wait for him to clarify— or change his mind. She slid gracelessly from the bed, feeling around the soft carpet on the spinning floor to find the familiar shape of Claude’s hip in her hand.

Claude thought he should stop her, somewhere distant in his rational mind: but his mouth was full and his heart longed for her to keep going, keep pulling at his pants and coming closer by inches to fulfilling one of his many unrequited fantasies. His body became cold and hot. He shivered with weakness at the first roll of Hilda’s tongue across him; his heart was stoked to burning by the hard heat in his mouth, the same stiff burning he tempered between Hilda’s hands and lips.

Hilda grazed her lips over his dick, playful, taking it in short bursts before finally settling into a lazy, indulgent bob. Lorenz was being more tender than he ever had: the way he laced his fingers in Claude hair in gentle strokes, massaging by his fingertips was novel. He did not seem so concerned with speed or depth, instead tilting Claude’s head up to look at him. He looked tired, and perhaps a little hurt, but he caressed under Claude’s jaw in encouragement while his eyes drifted and fluttered.

With the same gentleness, he pulled out of Claude’s mouth, grabbing his open shirt collar to lean him back: bending forward to look on the floor between them. 

At first he was lost on Claude’s silhouette, the sculpt of his hips over his navel, way his pants were pulled so haphazardly down to mid-thigh. They were tugged, held down by soft white fingers: Hilda worked in steady rhythm between Claude’s legs, practiced, like she had done it many times before: one arm holding her up. The room was too dark to see all that he wanted; but the faint outlines of her lips open wide, to their limit, sliding over Claude inches in, inches out was enough to inspire Lorenz to some mix of fresh arousal and fury.

Claude panicked, looking to Lorenz for apology, or explanation, something — he wasn’t sure, his head ached and spun— before Lorenz pushed his head back down.

Lorenz was no longer gentle, his hands tight and pulling in Claude’s hair, pushing hard and fast into his mouth.

It felt good to choke on his envy; the way Lorenz’s cock swelled, the feel of it growing after seeing Hilda lavish her affections on him; Claude wallowed in it, coughing, gripping Lorenz so he could go faster and harder. 

Lorenz leaned over Claude stiffly, enveloping him, holding him in by his head and the back of his shirt. 

“NnNgghhh AAAaah! AaAGH! Claude!” His exultations were almost vicious. He left no choice but for Claude to swallow, quickly: fortunately his desperation matched Claude’s thirst. “Hahnn… Hah…! Claude! _Claude_!”

Even finished, Lorenz held tightly to him, to throb and wane in his mouth. The drawn out, quiet comedown was too intimate with only the sound of Hilda's wet lapping to fill the room. Impatient, Claude wrapped his arms around Lorenz to brace himself to work his hips against Hilda’s leisurely pace. 

She matched his enthusiasm. 

Lorenz released Claude at last, succumbing quickly to fatigue. He held Claude’s face up once more, watching his mouth open and close in panting, watching the leftover saliva drip from his chin and his lips. Lorenz found his eyes especially unnerving: wide and unsure, as if ready to weep. Unguarded. It didn’t suit him, but Claude seemed content to face him, just this once, without the mask. Lorenz endured.

“Hn… huff… huff… Lornzz… HildaH! ah! ah! Please!” Claude whispered into Lorenz’s hands. 

Sweet and high moans rose up, Hilda rejoicing from the floor. Her glorious expertise made their tryst brief: in only minutes Claude was spilling into her mouth to her rising moans.

The room became darker after that, Lorenz thought, confused.

The bed was suddenly sprawled out beneath him. 

He watched (dreamed?) Claude leaning over Hilda, hands busy in her sheer panties as she wilted, begging for more while he held her up in his embrace. He couldn’t be sure: the lamp-light behind them was too bright. 

Lorenz couldn’t stand to look into it any more.

  
  



	55. Shrouded Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Added 03-18-2020

Lorenz woke briefly in the night, to the stroke of his hair, a kiss on the head. It was laced with the same deep, inveterate affection Lalia held for him, that if it was not for the too heavy weight on the bed, or the too coarse whisper of apology, he might have mistaken such tenderness for her return.

By the time he willed his hand to reach out, Claude was already gone. He could not be sure what time it was, but there was not even a sliver of dawn in the window: it was still well before Claude reasonably needed to leave.

There was still warmth near to him, though, small and shivering. Abandoned by Claude, he cast out for Hilda: finding her without blanket or even pants. He struggled to orient himself to wrap around her, but managed after several minutes of lost and regained conscious.

Lorenz could not bear to rouse himself any more than that, still half-drunk and not in control of his faculties, he was overtaken by asleep.

* * *

The short night’s rest did Lorenz no good.

When the dawn bell rang in the city, he felt as wretched as when his head hit the pillow the night before. Hilda failed to stir in the slightest: she was pale, pants-less, breathing heavy- with nausea, he presumed.

“Hilda.” Lorenz called to her soft, his dry throat cracking even in his lowest tones. “Ugh.” He looked around the room, finding the rest of her wardrobe so she could return to decency. Still, she did not move. Lorenz brushed a hand over her forehead to find her burning.

_Just like Claude: to start some scandal, then run away to his duties or what-have you, leaving others to whatever fate. I wonder where he has gone to sulk… I truly wonder how Hilda has put up with him at all. He does treat her so carelessly._

Lorenz, of course, would loath himself later for letting himself be again 'tricked' into this contemptible situation, for allowing his memory to be lost to heavy drinking: but most important now was returning Hilda home with her dignity in-tact. He managed to dress Hilda himself, trying as he could to hide her distinguishing hair, and left the tavern with the esteemed Duke Goneril’s daughter on his back.

It was not long before he saw various Goneril-emblazoned staff: maids, soldiers, even a stable hand from the Hall. They went door to door in the inn and market districts, searching frantically for Hilda. It would have been much easier, prudent to alert them that he had found her— but his pride stopped him; and maybe some sense of possessiveness. It felt wrong to shirk her care onto some nameless servant; it was more fitting for her status (and his atonement) that she should be carried all the way home by his own noble shoulders.

_Or perhaps I am making more crude excuses to keep her near a bit longer._ He admitted. His compromised state unbridled his self-criticism.

A few moments later, his choice was justified.

“…Lorenz?”

“Yes, I am here.”

“Where are we?”

“On our way home, to Goneril Hall.”

“Nooo…”

“Yes; you are quite ill, and your family is searching for you. Do not be petulant.”

“Hmmph.” She agreed into his shoulder, where her forehead was tucked: still burning through his thin shirt. It seemed, to him, that she squeezed tighter around him; not for falling— he had her well supported. He hoped it was because she found some comfort in him.

When he did arrive at Goneril Hall, there were crowds in their front garden: those who had been searching the city reporting in, and being sent to a new quarter, or to the same one to search again. Duke Goneril himself waited on the approach, yelling at people in turns that they were not doing enough, search better: such a distinct, noble young lady surely left a mark on someone’s memory that could lend them evidence. Suddenly Lorenz felt quite foolish for personally returning Hilda under his hateful gaze.

A guard approached him.

“Halt! What is your—”

A thunder of horse hooves drowned him out.

“GLOUCESTER!” Holst roared, emerging from a back-alley on his horse. “YOU! Who is that with you?!”

“H-Hilda!?” Lorenz squeaked: it was an answer as much as a cry for help for Hilda to rouse herself and fend off her brother— her very large, enraged, war-general brother. The same pink hair and eyes, lacy armor and preference for shiny accessories Goneril’s favored— that made Hilda look so sweet— did nothing to soften his furious demeanor.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” He dismounted, pointing in accusation, fast approaching.

The commotion caught Duke Goneril’s attention, and he, too, began taking threatening strides in Lorenz’s direction.

“AHa- haha! I- I- I just- !” Lorenz laughed in fear and stuttered in panic

Just as Holst and Goneril cornered him, drew close enough to throttle him, Hilda whimpered and raised her head.

They drew back as though they were about to step on a baby bird, their expressions becoming reverent and pitiful as they strained to hear Hilda’s voice.

“Yes, angel?” The Duke simpered.

“Oh, Daddy, it was_ awful._” She slurred manipulation, even in such a poorly state. “I was so stupid. I just wanted to be a commoner for one night, then there was this man, and I don’t know who he was. I had a drink and I got all dizzy… I was so scared, but then Lorenz was there. I don’t remember anything else, but I’m sure he saved me.”

“Is this true?”

“Quite! Of course! I was _also_ exploring the common street spectacles when I saw Hilda. Naturally, I came to greet her: but I could tell right away something was amiss. I brought her to a private room to recover her senses.” With this explanation, he kneel to let her carefully down. Holst took her shoulders and pulled her to him.

“You put her up in a room? _Private_ sleeping arrangements with the slimy son of Count Gloucester?” Holst accused.

Lorenz would remember the accusation of being _slimy_ for the rest of his days, and he would have his revenge. But just now he was outnumbered.

“Ha! Sleeping arrangements, if you could call them that.” Lorenz laughed in Holst’s face, regarding the broad man very much as he might a wyvern, unwilling to cower in case he might snap him in half, given the opportunity. “I kept vigil by Hilda’s side for the remainder of the night, and made a fine bed out of a wood chair. I dispatched a messenger to your hall to fetch a horse and an escort, but I suppose he became lost in the revels. I can promise there was no time for foul play between holding her hair back and maintaining her temperature!”

The way he looked, he doubted they could disbelieve him: he was only half-dressed, having balled up the dancers robes into his pockets, ferrying Hilda around the city on his back without so much as a coat or a neck piece, no gloves, and his hair without combing. They might even see the faint, soft stubble that he had never before let mar his face in public.

Holst and his father looked between one another, coming to the same conclusion: a night spent in indulgence would not result in such a deathly pallor. And the prissy Lorenz Gloucester would never humiliate himself so unless it was unavoidable. Or beneficial.

The Duke motioned for one of Hilda’s chaperones to come and take her back inside: they were not done with Lorenz yet.

“Better you come to her rescue than Claude.” Holst grumbled.

Curious, and reckless, Lorenz leaned again on their natural rivalry to try and discover why it was that the Goneril’s despised Claude so. He had only heard rumors; the opportunity to pry had never arisen so conveniently.

“Oh? I knew Claude was… questionable. But is he really unscrupulous enough to harm one of his peers? Especially the daughter of a Great Lord.”

“Harm is the wrong word— it’s a matter of respect. Let’s leave it at that.” Holst said defensively. Arms crossed, he returned to the hall to see to his sister.

_So much for that. I should not press my luck any further today._ There was a relieved silence, tension winding down. Lorenz searched for excuse to bid farewell.

“I owe you a great deal, Lorenz.” Goneril said, surprising Lorenz in his tone; he had never heard such humility from the Duke… if it could be called that. If he understood nothing about Goneril’s manner or mind, he understood his concern and love for Hilda.

“Not at all, Duke: it is absolutely my pleasure to aid one of my friends.”

“Friend. Pleasure. Even when being shown gratitude, you are insincere and pandering. Just like your father.”

Any sympathy Lorenz felt for the Duke evaporated.

“Let me clarify: I would help any Lady, common or no, in distress. I respect your position a great deal, Duke Goneril, and Holst as well: but I’ve no need to pander to either of you.” Lorenz was quick regaining his impudence after a _second_ insult against his character. “I am sure you are well aware that my position as a Gloucester is such now, and will remain so, that I have no need to put on faux displays. I am privileged enough that I can act earnestly: and I do, never more than when Hilda is involved. She is my friend, dearly so, and you can be sure that any time I am associated with her, it is with the utmost deference to Hilda’s wishes and dignity!” By the end of his speech, he had thumped his palm over his heart, making several grand gestures with his remaining hand.

Goneril considered him for a moment. He stared into Lorenz, waiting for him to shrink under his gaze— he was quite used to intimidating even the haughtiest of nobles with not only his size, but his title. Lorenz only straightened. He stood by what he said.

“I don’t know yet, if I want to like you or not. You talk too much like your the Count, and you’re arrogant." He pushed a hard, heavy finger into Lorenz's chest. "but it’s not always arrogant in a bad way. We’ll see.” Though it seemed half compliment, Goneril’s tone was suspicious and threatening.

“I appreciate your… assessment. I will be taking my leave, Duke Goneril, to prepare for the Fourth Day’s Feast.” Lorenz extended his hand. He usually avoided handshakes, but he wanted to make a point that his slender frame was not so frail as his previous display of fainting made him seem.

Goneril took it without hesitation. After two rough shakes, he drew Lorenz in close.

“Keep steering that foreign fool, if you can— he may be unwelcome in the Goneril House, personally, but Oswald would have us sit by and be sold away piece by piece.”

“I am sure I have no idea what you mean.” Lorenz retracted his hand politely. “I am only staying in House Riegan as a courtesy.”

“Your ‘dear friend’ Hilda is a terrible gossip.”

“Good day, Duke Goneril.”

***

Claude returned to Riegan Estate just before eight.

After leaving Lorenz and Hilda, after regaining his sense, he wandered the city in deep remorse, self-loathing, and hang-over; abusing himself again and again for such a mistake, and resolved that it was as fine of a finale as he could hope for. It was time to let them be, alone together, and face the future. He arrived at Riegan Hall’s wyviary just as the first rays of dawn came from the east.

The day before, he had planned to return to Riegan Estate ahead of the crowds, to meet with his Grandfather and plan for the feast. Now he could add composing himself to his list of worries: to slowly rebuild himself, again, only this time dependent on no one. Nothing could distract him better than the upcoming social graces that the feast would require of them all; a good place to start over. If he could just focus on being a leader, he thought, it was a challenge that could dominate his time and attention— even enough to forget his personal wants and the fool he made of himself the longer he clung to Lorenz and Hilda.

_Getting involved with the heirs of other Great Lords was the worst thing I could have done in the first place. If I had come to Fodlan even a few months later… It would have put me in the Officers Academy without all that scandal with Hilda… Maybe Lorenz would have been in somewhere else during my introduction to the other Lords, and I never would have seen him across the room. Agh!_

Claude gave up on what could not be changed: wishing things were different was just another way to worry over his _former_ lovers. For the remainder of the cold wyvern ride home, he put all his focus into the Roundtable, mentally reviewing social niceties and Minor House names. _Plans… Grandpa mentioned plans the day of the assassination attempt but never told me what they were…_

The Estate was busy already. The feast would not begin until 12 in the afternoon, but the staff was already frantic: set to scouring the mansion, grooming the grounds, and the first round of pre-prep for the many dishes that would be served could be smelled when he drifted nearer the kitchens. After stopping several general maids, and a few bad leads, Claude found his Grandfather in his more secluded study. Morven sat nearby, looking pale and fatigued; Claude could only assume he gave up on guarding Lorenz when they slipped out the night before, and returned to the estate by himself. _No reason to be sitting around while everyone else works._ Claude had no real complaint; he simply, still, hated him.

“How was your journey yesterday, grandfather? Are you feeling better?”

“I am feeling remarkably well, thank you. The journey was dull. As usual, laborious and unchanging.” Despite his claim, he groaned as he shifted in his chair. “I expected you back in the evening. I’ve much to discuss with you. Hrghuh!”

Morven set upright in his chair, but then decided the cough was not significant enough to stir.

“Yes, you do. I got distracted by the assassination attempts, and the Roundtable, but you never told me what these shrouded plans are.”

“I meant to tell you last night; unfortunately you were absent. Out risking your reputation with the Gloucester boy, I assume.”

“I didn’t do anything _risky._”

"Hilda was missing, we received numerous messages from the city asking for your whereabouts."

"Don't know anything about it."

“I can see you pouting from here. But that stops now: there are more important, grave matters at hand. It's time to stop playing.”

“You don’t have to tell me; I know the Alliance needs my full attention.” Claude spoke rapidly, not giving the Duke a moment to comment before changing the subject. “Your plans— you mentioned they were moved forward, today instead of weeks from now.”

“Yes. I had hoped to lure more people here, but an attack on my own heir is an act of war. I will not be so reserved as I was after the multiple attempts on Godfrey’s life. I wonder sometimes, if I had been more heavy handed perhaps he would still be alive... I will not wait and watch this time. I intend to make clear where House Riegan’s policy for traitors.”

_Lure? Traitors?_ Claude became more nervous by the moment.

“…How?”

“I was going to tell you, but after careful reflection I believe it may be best if you experience it for yourself; in fact. Your absence has given me time for more consideration… I want you to react accordingly to your own character. No plans.”

“That’s ridiculous! Something big is going to happen, and you would rather me just _react_ than have a plan?! And today— I assume in front of some of the most powerful people in the Alliance?” Claude regained his balance, standing to tower over his grandfather. “Tell me!”

“No. It might implicate you, should you choose to take a different path. I will carry on as Duke until I can no longer stand, but this will be my final show of power. It will be our last act as a divided House, then I will begin passing on my affairs. If you see so fit, you may even seize them from me when the time is right.” The Duke looked satisfied at this last declaration, and eased himself deeper into his chair, clearly unwilling to speak more “I never thought I might admit this, but I have faith in your sensibilities. Not that I have a choice, but I do mean it earnestly.”

Claude clung to his own chair, bewildered. Irritated, irrationally angry and quickly losing his facade. He made his way to the door without comment, stopping under the curtained archway.

“You know… whatever it is, it’s a mistake if you can’t even speak about it.” He said condescendingly, putting every air of disgust into his voice he could muster. “Don’t do something that I’ll be held accountable for when I become Duke.”

The Duke managed a solemn laugh, before he began wheezing.

Claude stormed out.

“Morven.”

“Yes… Lord Duke.”

“Your only concern today is to distract Lorenz. Keep him away from the garden center.”

“That will be no issue… but why?”

“I do not want Claude running to him for council. He must realize he will stand alone if he refuses to cast his dependence on a broader base of allies... And he will come to regret it if his only adviser is a Gloucester. It escaped my concern, with all that has happened. But your display inspired me.”

"_My_ display?"

"Tryst, molestation, whatever you call it. They were so close to dissolution. I was content to abide their alliance, but as my days dwindle I have come to realize I want Lorenz Gloucester out of my Estate and away from my heir. There is no knowing how his father is using him; he is only biding his time, I believe. That is your final, most pressing command from me: destroy whatever it is that binds them. By any means."

"I think you underestimate the task you are giving me. It would be easier to kill him. Then I would also need kill Claude... and fight Lalia. I would not win."

"No, no killing... besides the blood feud it would rekindle, I have grown soft in my old age." The Duke breathed deep and ragged. "You've done worse things. By any means, Morven."


	56. Fourth Day's Feast, Part 1

After leaving his grandfather, Claude took a long soak in his private bath to wash the prior evening’s sweat from him. He was reluctant, to wash the memory away; but the merchant’s disguise he wore was now folded neatly in one of many locked drawers. It was wrapped carefully so the scent might stay on them: the way Hilda and Lorenz and the air of the night smelled would bring him back when he sought comfort in the days to come. 

The water became cold as he worried over his grandfather’s reckless plans.

_Lalia! She is on the grounds, probably put up for when the Count visits. Maybe she would tell me…_ He shivered. _I should have gone to her first!_

He was half dressed when a maid came, breathless, to his room.

“My Lord! You have a visitor in the foyer, she says it is urgent!”

“I’m coming!” He looked at the clock: ten already. Hopefully there would still be time to find Lalia after this urgent guest. The unannounced visitor made him uneasy; a bad start to an already uncertain day.

When he emerged, the maid walked double time, as quick as her neat attire would allow. 

Claude saw his guest from the top of the stairs, panting, thumping her foot impatiently— Leonie.

She was hardly waiting; even exhausted, red in the face, she looked as though she wanted to dash up the stairs as soon as she saw him. She settled for stomping over to the banister, holding onto it for support. 

“Leonie?!”

“They were taken. We were ambushed.” Leonie said angrily, a careful veneer of calm not concealing her shame. “I brought the message back myself because I thought you might want to send me somewhere else immediately; my men are a day behind me, but we couldn’t spare the horses. I’m so sorry Claude.”

It was so early, the message Claude sent to House Daphnel the night before might have even left_ after_ the attack occurred.

“What happened?” 

“We were surrounded at night, by mages. Red mages. Don’t know how many.”

“Did you lose anyone else?”

“I lost two of my guys; House Daphnel lost ten. All dead, six more injured.”

“I see.” Claude took a moment to consider his options, which seemed to frustrate Leonie further. _I don’t know what to do._ “…I need to get in touch with my spy at Morley’s Estate. And wait for Lorenz to arrive; this is his affair, I’ll see how he wants to proceed.”

Leonie’s jaw flexed.

“We’re just going to _wait_?” She grimaced. “They’ve been kidnapped— and I think one of them was hurt, and you’re just going to sit around on your noble thumbs and- and what?! ”

“Not send my limited people in the wrong direction!” He snapped; he trusted Leonie to get things done, but her former animosity toward Byleth degraded Claude’s early opinion of her. Regardless, she was an excellent vanguard, offensive: but no tact. “Everyone I kept in my personal confidence was sent out toward Daphnel- I’m going to have to lean on the general Riegan Guard, and they aren’t the best of the best. I can ask the Duke to spare his senior staff, but during Roundtable week it’s unlikely.

“That’s what I’m saying, send me!”

“Where, Leonie? Where am I supposed to send you?” 

“The guy who wants them— Morley, right? He lives in the city?” She punched into her palm. “So, let’s go right to the source! I can just knock him out, we can ask questions later.”

He liked it; and he wished it was viable. 

“Leonie… your enthusiasm is excellent, you’re well on your way to becoming unmatched in the mercenary world—”

“However, this is politics.” Lorenz stood in the doorway: arrived early for the feast. He looked ill. “I saw the overtaxed horse in the yard. The Andertons, I take it… Leonie, this is not some bandit king: attacking Major Lord would land you in the ground.”

“… Lords. This is bullshit, he’s a kidnapper!” Leonie flung her arms wide in her frustration.

“Not directly; if he were holding the girls hostage in the town square, you could punch him in broad daylight, justly so…” Lorenz commiserated; he would love nothing more than for the situation to be so simple. “But he is not directly involved with this incident; even with proof, we suspect he is going to claim custody of one or both of the girls. He is acting by ‘parental rights’ in that circumstance.”

“That’s why I hired you to guard them on the road: from monsters and bandits, maybe an assassin. There isn’t much you can do here.” Claude tried to sympathize with her frustration.

“Yeah! Well! Ugh!” Leonie grumbled. “They were _just_ starting to get excited about training as knights, like it was an adventure and they weren’t fleeing for their lives. I hate this!”

Lorenz shook his head in grief.

“We underestimated their dispute. I well and truly thought Morley would have his mind on the Roundtable.” Lorenz lamented. “I will seek out Jericho when he comes to the feast; we must bring him immediately into protection.”

“Agreed.” Claude turned to Leonie; despite all the fire in her, she was pale and still had not caught her breath. Only her dependence on the banister held her up. “Leonie, our maid will show you to a room. Rest, and leave everything else to us.”

Her eyes widened. 

“Rest here? In House Riegan? I can stay in the guard house—”

“That won’t be necessary.” Claude motioned to the maid, who all but carried Leonie up the stairs, ignoring her further complaints.

Claude led Lorenz to a secluded hall. 

“What are we going to do?” Lorenz whispered into an alcove.

“Keep up appearances. We can’t let Morley know we know.” Claude began to speak rapidly: time was running out before the feast. “But there is a more immediate problem: my grandfather is planning something nefarious. I need you to talk to Lalia while I send a message to Alvina— she’s still at Morley’s Estate.”

“Nefarious? Lalia?” Lorenz leaned forward now, graceful concern showing in the way he folded his hands near his heart. “What should I ask? …Would she be in the prison house?”

“She should be, I’ll ask around. Just get anything you can from her; I doubt she’ll tell you straight forward. If she won’t tell you what then plans are, at least a hint of what I should expect. Just enough to prepare a plan.”

“Vague… but yes, I will do it. We are short on time.” Lorenz agreed. He seemed determined enough that Claude might escape all discussion of the night before…. But Lorenz put his arm against the wall to block his path from the alcove.

“We will discuss last night, later. You aren’t getting away with anything, I want you to know. It is only that present matters are too demanding.”

“Right.”_ Fuck._

Lorenz hesitated, not letting his hand down. He smoothed back the stray lock of hair that always seemed to be falling into Claude’s face: an excuse to lean in close, to look him up and down. 

Claude turned away when Lorenz tried to kiss him: confused he would try at all. Despite his attempt to intimidate, Lorenz did not seem to harbor _too_ much resentment about the night before.

Lorenz did not relent, instead alighting his lips on the cheek turned against him: slow, soft. They very same intimate gesture he spared only for Hilda the night before.

He did not seem surprised when he drew back.

“We’ll talk about it later.” Claude explained.

“Of course.”

  
* * *

  
The prison was hot, without the careful construction that allowed the Estate to stay cool in such dry summers. It was plain stone, layered too thin, without windows: Lorenz was baking alive, but it did nothing to diminish his joy at seeing Lalia… who seemed quite pleased with the arrangements, like a cat near a fireplace. She looked just as smug, too- there was a body face down on the floor: her own fresh kill.

“Lalia?! What in heavens—”

“Your father has sent the executioner for my pending trial prematurely. You think he would know better by now.” The guards were spreading out a canvas to wrap and carry the failed assassin to the infirmary. “It is good to see you, Lorenz.”

“Yes… How are they, the Riegan Guard, treating you? Is there anyone I need to threaten? Bury?” Lorenz was let into Lalia’s cell; he shifted uncomfortably on the unlined wood bench that was generously labeled a ‘bed.’

“Not yet; I had free reign of the Estate until this morning, but because some parties arrive early, we wanted to make sure I was put up nicely.” She stretched against the wall. “I’m only bored. And you: how have you fared in my absence?”

“Poorly. Claude has made a fool of me several times without you around to speak sense into me. Our… hmm. My sensibilities are rapidly deteriorating.”

“It’s about time.”

“About time— nothing! I can feel it; he got what he wanted, and now he is fabricating some reason to sequester himself. He made a fool of all three of us last night, and now he seems to be deep in regret.”

“Three?! Lorenz!” Lalia scolded.

He blushed deeply at his mistake, but Lalia would not accept a false correction; he did not have to name the third person. 

“If you believe Claude is an irresponsible match, you are playing with fire to risk insulting House Goneril. Claude has no family here; Hilda’s House would turn every spear, every axe, sword and mage-hand on you at once.”

“I have first hand experience, thank you.” He felt ill thinking about his brush with Lord Holst and Duke Goneril. “… Actually, I think I am earning Duke Goneril’s good graces. Perhaps.”

“You should concern yourself more with Holst: he is, technically, the Head of House. The Duke is a figurehead for the Roundtable only until Holst finds a suitable general to man Fodlan’s Locket. You will answer to him if Hilda is wounded in your affairs.”

“I am quite aware.” Lorenz leaned in, wasting more time than he had. “Do you know why they hate Claude so? Why they work so tirelessly to keep Hilda from him?”

“Yes. And being on amorous terms with both Hilda and Claude, you can ask them yourself.” She turned away, unwilling to gossip about affairs that did not concern politics. Gossip that could hurt his feelings and only cause more strife.

“We will revisit this topic, but more urgently… I am here to pry from you what the Duke’s plans are for the feast.”

“No.”

“No?! Lalia, despite your history with House Riegan, you should be loyal to me! You are still _my_ maid, are you not?”

“I am and have been since I joined House Gloucester; this is bigger than you.”

“Claude warned me you would not relent. A hint, then? Anything. Claude is beside himself, being left in the dark. I am growing nervous myself.” 

This surprised Lalia.

“The Duke did not tell him?” She looked at him curiously. “I thought you were prying for yourself alone.”

“The Duke told him next to nothing. Was he meant to include Claude in his schemes?”

“Yes. But if that has changed, I have to respect his designs.” Though she spoke with confidence, she now looked unsure. Wary.

“Perhaps only a hint, then? To aid me?” Surely she could not deny him, if he was to be put in danger, in the position to make an ultimatum, or have need to advise Claude.

She remained silent, staring through the bars at the dead man while she searched her mind for some hint that would preoccupy Lorenz… and maybe help him work out some kernel of truth.

“How is the staff managing the preparations?”

“I do not know; I only just arrived. The Estate looks well prepared, though the present staff seems to be a minimum… Detail…” Lorenz caught her hint: too vague to be of any use. “Where are the rest of the staff?”

“I wonder. I have been put up, I would not know.”

“Thank you Lalia; when we have you out of this cell, I must reward you for your begrudging loyalty.” He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “Patience.”

  
* * *

  
“Let the fourth days feast begin!” 

The Duke announced as a set of maids and a set of butlers pulled the grand dining hall doors open: laborious even for four people. He stood to the side, welcoming and bantering with their guests as they waited to file in; Claude did the same on the opposite side of the doorway. Lorenz did not return to him before his duty as host called, and there was no opportunity to slip away now.

“There you are! First you abandon me to make the journey on my own, then you do not even bother to greet me when I arrive.” Lorenz complained, loudly, as he stepped out of the crowded queue for the dining hall. “Some hospitality you are showing.”

“_Some_ nobles lean a little to heavily on hospitality— aren’t you done pouting yet? Go back to House Gloucester.” Claude quipped. Several eyebrows raised, a few people turned away and snickered behind their hands. They made a show of arguing, drawing further from the crowd as if escalating their grievances with one another. 

Around a hall corner and out of sight, Lorenz spoke low and quickly.

“The staff; are they all present? Lalia mentioned that there are too few for such a feast. What could it mean?”

“… I didn’t even notice; I assumed they were just staying in the servants passages because we were having guests.” Claude glanced back toward the murmur of coming from the main hall. “Are they preparing for some kind of ambush?”

“I do not know, but return quickly! Perhaps you can search for clues while you consider it.” 

Claude made to obey— but Lorenz seized his arm.

“Wait, have you seen my father? Is he in the dining hall yet?”

“He’s around, but I haven’t seen him recently.” Claude patted him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

Lorenz waited in the hall, hoping to arrive late as an excuse to avoid his father: who would no doubt be set at the head of the table. 

_Morven. Where is he? I should preoccupy myself with him._ Lorenz wished he had friends among the crowd that he was familiar with, who could aid him in deflecting his father. Lysithea was a great Lord, and it would seem pandering to depend on her company; he thought it unwise to depend on Hilda within sight of her hulking brother after the morning they shared; and Marianne… _I so adore Marianne, but she would be a liability in such a situation. I could rely on one of my more vapid, lower house peers._ He considered those gossips who laughed so readily at his insults of Claude. _Rather not. I would be indebted to them— and they would abuse it._

There were footsteps nearing the turn in the hall that concealed him. Lorenz crossed to a nearby mirror, and pretended to straighten himself; careful to exude irritation, as though his argument with Claude had left him humiliated.

“The risks you take become more and more bold.” Morven commented. Lorenz was both relieved and irritated: today, Morven was the lesser of dozens of evils. He had also resolved to trust him— but that did not mean the faith placed in him was strong. “Did your obvious rendezvous smudge your makeup?”

“I do not wear makeup; I am naturally flawless.” Lorenz turned on Morven. “We were discussing what the Duke has planned… I suppose you would know more, would you not? Out with it.” He demanded of Morven.

“I do wonder…” Morven drew up next to Lorenz in the mirror, mocking him by touching about his own face. “If we were closer, I might be obligated to tell you… Did your maid not divulge The Duke’s plans?” He raised an eyebrow in taunt.

“Lalia is an enigma. She would not tell me.”

“Hmm. Pity I am not employed by House Gloucester… or, perhaps if we were lovers, I would be overcome with passion and reveal everything to you in a display of fealty.” He braced his hand over his heart as though it ached._ It would do well to lay my deceit in now, for the Duke's plan. _

Lorenz was not amused, or even paying attention: he was staring intently into the mirror.

“… What is wrong with this mirror? Do you see it? There is a sort of … moire patterning swirling through it.” He reached out to touch the mirror where Morven’s image reflected. _It’s only on one half of the mirror. Strange, usually poorly made glass is consistent in it’s flaws— _

“This is no time to wonder about poor mirror craftsmanship.” Morven seized Lorenz’s arm, and began to steer him back toward the main hall. “I will tell you _one_ thing, in friendship. I am meant to distract you. Keep you in the garden with everyone else for dessert.” Morven reversed his command from the Duke, so he could tempt Lorenz away from the garden center later.

This turned Lorenz’s attention away from the mirror at last.

“Keep me in the crowd? Why would I leave?”

“That I cannot tell you; not for secrecy, but I am not sure what the Duke expects you to see that might lead you away.”

“… Am I in danger?”

“I do not believe so. But you have grown too comfortable here: you should know, despite his allowing Claude to host you, the Duke has no love for Gloucesters of any character." He warned; the Duke's rekindled ire made even Morven nervous. "Give him no excuses.”

“Morven.” Lorenz was now fearful. “Now I _must_ follow whatever it is I see, if only for Claude’s sake. He must know all that he can.”

“I would not advise it. Let him deal with his own household affairs.”

“Or course you would not advise me to aid _Claude_ at my risk… so you will come with me.”

“Come with you? Commanding me now? You gave up that privilege some days ago when my consideration for House Gloucester was revoked.” Morven’s heart fluttered at first; he felt privileged to earn Lorenz’s dependence, but it was bittersweet: Lorenz was so sincere, he did not deserve such manipulation.

“Not commanding— I entrusted you with my good faith, but you have yet to earn it. You are indebted to me still for your little scheme.” Lorenz argued as they came nearer to the main hall, the crowd now seated into the dining hall.

“So I am… you might consider in the future, that such entitlement might spur an assassin such as myself to simply dispose of you. You lean too readily on my affections.”

“I am leaning on your _affiliations_: to injure me would be to bring the whole of House Gloucester’s wrath on you, and House Riegan by association. I thought you were here to aid the Alliance?”

“The Count does not frighten me.”

Lorenz felt the truth of his words. There were many people who claimed his father was simpering and feeble, that they did not fear him— they were all liars, losing face and life when the Count retaliated against their attempts on his reputation or his Estate. 

Only Lalia had ever meant it, and only Lalia had ever sidestepped his wrath. Lorenz’s faith in Morven deepened; he could not help admiring such resolve.

“If my father’s wrath does not move you, then help me avoid him for the duration of the feast.”

Morven smiled. _Lorenz’s faith will not be misplaced… on this matter. If there is any chance for reconcile…_ He bowed.

“I am grateful to serve you again, My Lord.”


	57. Fourth Day's Feast, Part 2

Claude loved feasts. In his three years in Fodlan, the Fourth Day Feast was one of his favorites. It put everyone on even footing, Lords and commoners all, with the pleasure of good food and better wine. He sat at a head table, with seats reserved for Major and Minor Lords; the other Great Lords were disbursed between the six additional tables per tradition, to dine with their constituents. The celebration would end early, at six, so everyone could prepare for the fifth day of Roundtable week: this kept the mood casual, but everyone still with a mind for the developments of the Roundtable. It was an occasion to talk politics off the record, and air grievances— which became far more interesting when mixed with day drinking. 

But this year’s feast was drained of the grandiose of years passed. 

He was nearing his burden of rule, and there was a war ignored along border: it’s effect could be seen. There were people missing— the Minor Lords that fled trial were numerous enough that their absence was noticeable. There were many people he knew by face but could not name who did not attend and left the usually bustling crowds thinned. It was just as well: food was as sparse as their guests, with major supplies being diverted, some traders suffering the same fraud Tatalia’s Trading Company had from Lord Berla. There were fewer commoners; only the wealthy ever attended, but with news of the assassination attempt circulating, many stayed away.

Claude took a long drink from his wineglass, after making some eloquent toast to the Duke’s health that he could not remember just after it was said. He noted Lord Adalius Benettos was present: he had never attended before. Lord Morley sat near to Adalius, confirming his suspicions that they had more ties than just the bank. Only a half hour earlier, the Duke spared his own senior staff to pursue the kidnapped Anderton children, along with a sizable battalion: setting up road blocks at every major juncture and assassins at the minor ones. Now that the girls had been officially kidnapped, it was not suspect for House Riegan to offer aid at the assumed ‘request’ of House Daphnel (though he had not heard directly from Judith). They were now being sought officially as a joint effort… but he still felt off course. Missing something.

_The Benettos Chateau is a day and a half of travel; how soon could a crest transfer even take place? It would take Morley three days of travel minimum; the ceremony itself, the way Lorenz described it, seems cut and dry. _Claude considered several possible time lines; should Morley be elected as a major Lord, his crest would need to be confirmed before everyone returned to their respective territories. A week at maximum.

_Maybe it doesn’t have to be at the Chateau._ He realized.

_ That’s it, that’s what has been bugging me: the crest transfer… it’s going to happen here in Derdriu— or nearby. Going all the way to House Benettos would be too cumbersome with two children, and take too long. They would have been preparing for months— there would be a paper trail… but there’s no time for that. Why, though? They are rivals for the seat… there is something deeper here._

The feast dragged on.

* * *

_This is degrading… perhaps I should have demanded Claude keep me company… I thought it would make me too insolent. But this…_ Lorenz was relegated to the farthest table from the main table, at one of the ‘spare’ tables that seated no Great Lord. He was in the company of commoners; wealthy commoners, the few who could attend, but he felt as an adult sitting at a child’s table: they drew away from him, speaking to one another, sometimes around him. Each time they apologized profusely for their rudeness, but still would not speak to him casually for deference.

_And perhaps my reputation has something to do with it. Jericho insisted I had my own sort of fan club; these must not be the sort. I should have been absent entirely._

Morven waited against the servants wall behind him; butlers could not sit down during such an event, and so keeping Lorenz company was long distance; morale only. He brought Lorenz fresh water from time to time (he swore off wine as punishment for his night out), and waited for a signal to make excuse for Lorenz to leave. There was a certain length of time, however, one was obligated to sit at a feast, and only two courses had been presented. There were four remaining; after two more he could leave.

The food _looked_ exquisite, but all he tasted was humiliation. When a soft tap came on his shoulder, he turned to bid Morven spirit him away regardless of etiquette… but it was a Gloucester butler; one of his father’s more dubious employ. 

“Lord Lorenz, Count Gloucester commands your presence at the head table. A place has been cleared for you.”

“I see. Please tell him not to disturb anyone for my sake; it is my mistake being so late. I will meet with him later.”

“He instructed me to accept no excuses; Acheron has become quite drunk already and has been displaced; he left the hall in a fury. The seat is vacant.”

“… Very well. Bring my plate.” Lorenz stood, cutting his eyes at Morven. _Now, please._

Just as Morven moved from his post, a friendly voice shouted from another table.

“Lorenz!” 

Lorenz searched around; he saw Raphael’s bulky form before he could find Ignatz’s cheerful call, where stood and waved.

“— Ignatz!” He walked over to him, as though he were the most precious of allies, a dear old friend not seen in twenty years. “My, I did not expect to find you here! What a pleasure!”

Ignatz looked confused at his formal tone, but was happy to have his enthusiasm matched.

“Yeah! Usually my parents or brothers answer the invitation, but this year they were indisposed, so I’m here as the representative.” He stepped back. “And Raph’s my plus one! There’s a seat here, we should catch up!”

“I would be _delighted_—” 

The Gloucester butler cleared his throat; he was one of the Count’s personal staff, and he behaved as such: pushy and snide.

“My Lord—”

“Ahah, I am sorry, I forgot you were here.” He waved the man away like a fly. “Inform my father that I met unexpectedly with a… a potential investment partner. I will convene with him in the garden, for dessert. Excuse me.”

The butler frowned, bowed stiffly, and left.

“Long time no see, buddy!” Raphael thumped Lorenz hard on the back when he sat, nearly knocking him into his soup.

“Yes, too long.” He did not care for Raphael. 

Morven swooped in to rescue him. 

“My Lord, a message has come for you.”

“I will take it later.” Lorenz instructed; signaling Morven to check again in 15 minutes. “Tell me, Ignatz, Raphael. How have you busied yourselves these past two years?”

“I’ve been helping Maya run the inn during the day, and acting as tavern guard at night!”

“… You attended the officers academy to become a tavern guard?” Lorenz did not mean to insult, but it was unprecedented.

“Not really, but I’m not officially a knight with everything that happened. Kinda hard to get a job.”

Ignatz jumped in to explain.

“Even though we were certified into our classes, the Church never officially knighted us— you know, being destroyed before the graduation ceremony. Outside of the academy, it’s almost impossible as a commoner to get a noble House to knight us, because we didn’t rise through their ranks.”

“I would’ve had to be a squire for five years; I don’t got time for all that— I can’t be away from my sis that long.”

“I’m currently squired to a knight from House Morley, but it’s pretty humiliating: their 'knights' are just thugs for the bank, it turns out. I just spend a lot of time polishing ornament weapons.” 

Lorenz was stunned. 

“Ignatz. You are telling me it never occurred to you to contact Claude, or myself? Hilda? Any of us could have helped you.”

“Well, we really didn’t want to lean on favors.” Ignatz looked down, ashamed. He even flushed to say it out loud. “N-nepotism and all that; it seemed like the wrong way to do it. I thought I should earn it.”

“As though you have not already earned your place!” Lorenz took him by the shoulder. “I will speak with Claude; he can knight and employ both of you. He needs friends now more than ever.”

“Whoa, really?!” Raphael dropped his spoon into his bowl, splattering cucumber soup everywhere. “Darn! Sorry about that.” He began dabbing Lorenz, heavy handed and actually missing most of the spilled soup in his panic. Morven stepped forward; Lorenz waved him away again.

“It is fine, Raphael, leave it.” Lorenz tried to restrain his irritation; Raphael was kind, just sloppy. Ignatz stopped him at last, and offered Lorenz his own clean napkin.

“Actually… I would rather be knighted into House Gloucester— I-if thats fine! I hate to ask, you didn’t offer, but—” Ignatz stuttered. “You know what, I’m sorry, that was really rude to invite myself—”

“Nonsense.” Lorenz huffed. “I would have offered… perhaps you are not aware, I am currently in a sort of self-exile from House Gloucester. I have no authority to knight you, and I do not know when I would.” He patted himself clean. “I’m not sure I would, even then. Gloucester county is in a precarious state, dangerous. Better to stay in Derdriu for now.”

“Well, I didn’t become a knight to paint the scenery.” He joked nervously. Lorenz smiled.

“That is precisely why I would hire you.” He reminded Ignatz. “Actually, I have several portraits I would like, if you can be discreet.”

“Of course!” He nearly leapt out of his chair. “I can do them right away! And when you’re back in House Gloucester, I can come work for you! I’ll wait!”

“Wonderful. But first—” Lorenz gestured him to come in closer, dropping his voice so low even Raphael could not hear. “Leave House Morley immediately. Do not wait even a day; do not return if you can manage.”

“Why—” Ignatz stopped himself, considering that the dining hall was not a place for details. “Right.”

Lorenz passed the remaining six courses in good company, glad he was at odds with his father for the opportunity to meet Ignatz again. _And Raphael too_, he supposed.

  
* * *

  
After the meal finished in the dining hall, everyone moved into the ballroom: to socialize and digest while they awaited a call to the garden for dessert. This was the time many took up drink; if anyone was going to make a fool of themselves, it would start here. 

Claude scoured the room for anything out of the ordinary; the guards were in their usual place, the doors were freely open to the yard. He even considered poison— he did not think his grandfather would kill so many, but making them sick… _He has been close to Morven recently; maybe he’s synthesizing more than antidotes; working with the twins. If only he wasn't such a bastard... I miss the snakes. Damn! I don’t have time to worry about this!_

Dark thoughts clouded Claude’s mind, as he recalled Lalia’s poisoning of some forty guards to spirit Lorenz from House Gloucester. Could he ever be so ruthless? Was such an act ever necessary?

He was forced to stop puzzling out his ethics; another merchant had caught sight of him. The man talked and talked— and it was interesting. Claude would consider it later, when he remembered: now he looked for Lorenz. 

_Surely he’s found something, anything. I guess he would have come to me by now, if he did._

“What do you think, Lord Claude?” The merchant's hopeful question cut through Claude's distraction.

“I think... it needs more consideration, but the groundwork is solid.”

“Uh. Yes, thank you. I will take my leave.”

_Damn, who did I just insult?_

Claude continued to be absent; he laughed and joked, often at his own expense to appease the more callous Lords… but he was preoccupied by searching for Lorenz, with the excuse that he might have some clue about his grandfather’s plans. Mostly, he wanted the distraction. If he was honest, he wanted Lorenz's attention, he wanted to go upstairs; to have a long talk and to be done with it. 

It would be less miserable, he thought, than winnowing through nobles self important rambling.

Lorenz appeared at last, nearby Hilda— when he could catch glimpses of them through the currents of people. They were laughing with others, smiling and being their best, disingenuous selves for the crowds. Once they even made their way to one another: Claude could only see Hilda flagging for a moment while Lorenz encouraged her. Seeing them now polished and upstanding only made the piecemeal memories of the night before stand out in his mind: how stiff they were in the daylight contrasted sharply from the way they each looked half dressed and panting. Just remembering made his ears ring with longing.

After watching them between small-talk with other Lords, he found an amusing pattern: Hilda was being trailed by Holst; she was trying discreetly to make her way to Lorenz; Lorenz, clueless, was practically clinging to Ignatz, trailed likewise by Morven, making circles around the room just out of his father’s view. It should have been hilarious.

Last week, he might have laughed aloud; or even yesterday.

Now he just felt a rift forming as real as the crowds that separated them across the room.

_My rising position was always leading to this._


	58. Fourth Day's Feast, Part 3

Ignatz and Raphael met with some of their peers: other common heirs, merchants and servicemen and business owners. Lorenz was edged out of their conversation until he was alone again, Morven at a servant’s distance. _I could feign a headache, return to my room. Or Claude’s room. But no— the Duke could become suspicious, and it might implicate Morven._ He looked around, hoping to find Lysithea or Marianne.

He found Hilda. 

She was still pale, but cheerful and bubbly as usual. From where he was standing, however, he could see her face fall whenever the person she spoke with turned away: she was still feeling the effect of their revel. Not far from her, Holst loomed and lingered. Lorenz wanted to go to her… but also did not want to face her in the company of others. He wasn’t sure what to say, what to do anymore, what she remembered; he could recall little himself. It could even be a mistaken dream; but if it was real, it was wretched enough to change the gentle course of their friendship. 

His discomfort paled in compare to the dread brought on at the sight of his father— he would make any and every conversation with Hilda if it meant keeping away from the Count. Lorenz beelined for her as she looked around, squinting into the crowd for clarity. It seemed his father had been stalled as well.

“Hilda, lovely to see you…” Lorenz realized how foolish he sounded, having seen her first thing in the morning. “...Are you feeling better? I thought you might stay at the Hall.”

She huffed deeply.

“_Duke Goneril_ made me come." She said his name in a childish, mocking tone. "Said making stupid mistakes didn’t excuse me from putting on a good face.”

“That seems rather cold, considering your… situation. As you presented it. Rather insensitive.” He lost his composure as Hilda looped her arm through his and leaned on him heavily. Of the little he remembered, her bare thighs and the way they folded so gracefully into her hips was distinct: the memory became more clear as she leaned on him, and would not leave him. Lorenz began to sweat. “H-have you met Morven? He is a butler of Claude’s, but he is attending me during the feast.” 

It was an awkward and needless introduction, but Morven did not falter.

“Lady Goneril, I am pleased to meet you at last. All I know of you is from your expert strategy in House Goneril.” Morven took her hand, only waving his lips over them: the bare minimum for polite gesture.

“Thank you? I didn’t know Claude was telling people about my, uh. ‘Work.’” She blushed, but it was not humility: there was a nervous, shamed air behind it. “If you want to call it that… it’s a little generous, I haven’t done _that_ much.”

“I would not say so; you are a master of your manipulations. Claude could have no better partner.” Morven used the term partner intimately, aiming at Lorenz’s insecurities.

Lorenz took her shoulder against Morven's obvious jealousy. 

“Worry not, Hilda: Morven is one of Claude’s close advisers. It is only natural he should know; your efforts are not common knowledge.” Lorenz assured. Hilda looked up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist casually. Lorenz’s elation must have been plain on his face, Morven grew more serious. “Hm! Would you like a drink, Hilda?”

“Ugh, Goddess no.” She groaned.

“Apologies; I was suggesting water.”

“Water. Yes.”

“Morven, could you?”

“Of course.”

After Morven was lost toward the refreshments, Hilda yawned.

“Ooohwah- Wow, he doesn’t like me. Is that the one you kissed?”

“I— I b-beg your pardon Hilda?!” Lorenz stuttered. “I have never done such a base thing, to mingle with staff— I— I am not so desperate to- with the- the House Riegan servants—”

“Aww! Forget I said anything I wasn’t supposed to know.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “My head hurts.” She turned her face in Lorenz’s chest to console him... and so he might be distracted from her slip-up.

While pretending not to notice Holst’s nasty glances from his two o’clock, Lorenz caught Claude’s eye from directly across the room. Though he looked well earlier, he might have been just as sick as Hilda in that moment: the bags under his eyes and the look of death on him. _He should be happy to look on Hilda at least, but no, he is brooding again because he is not standing directly between us. His attention should be on his duties, not lamenting... what, does he have to pout for? He got what he wanted. _

Lorenz waived the thoughts away; Claude needed support now, not condescension.

“Hilda, go to Claude: he looks pitiful.” Lorenz suggested. “I cannot be seen with him, else I would go myself.” _It might also remind Holst I am the _lesser_ evil. _He could feel the General looming closer and closer.

“With my father and brother nearby?” She groaned. After considering it for a moment, she instead brightened at the prospect. “You know? It _has_ been a while since I made them worry about Claude.” 

“…If that is your prerogative, but I need you to deliver a message.” She perked further, Lorenz bowed close to whisper into her ear. “I see nothing out of the ordinary. I will not be in the garden for dessert; I suspect there is something I can discover apart from the crowd.” He drew back to see that she comprehended the message. A little dazed, Hilda nodded quietly in confirmation.

“Are you cold, Hilda?” There were chills risen across her chest and shoulders, from the heart-shape neckline of her dress, under her cap sleeves and down her arms. 

"Nope!" Hilda smiled, pulling herself up by Lorenz’s shoulder to peck him on the cheek. She weaved away, unsteady, but with a hop in her step. 

“Perhaps we could step out to the garden early, My Lord.” Morven suggested dryly, returning with the glass of water too late.

“The day is becoming hot…” Lorenz complained as he watched Hilda go with longing. _I would have her with me always, half-drunk or half-dressed, unmade or imperfect; it is not possible for her to be anything less than flawless, no matter how she falters—_

“My Lord.”

“Forgive me.” Lorenz returned his attention. “Leave early… Is this a lead? A hint?”

“Not that I know, but we may stumble onto something if we explore the perimeter of the garden while we are meant to be in it’s center.”

“Very well; better to leave ahead, before my father expects to meet me over strawberries and cream.” Lorenz was grateful to escape the crowd. He cast one glance back: Hilda had found her way to Claude, and his countenance had improved tremendously.

For the first time, Lorenz was grateful for their familiarity with one another.


	59. Lost in the Garden

  
The garden was hot, the midday sun beating down. Lorenz ran a handkerchief across his forehead almost constantly while they wandered without purpose. 

“You know, Morven, perhaps whatever event I am to be kept away from will occur inside the Estate.”

“Most of the Duke’s operation is located outside, to my knowledge. My apologies.” Morven assured. While Lorenz was distracted by his ceaseless sweating, he nearly crashed into a young and new topiary— Morven made it an excuse to take him by the wrist and lead him. “Come, there is a deep, shaded alcove not far from here.”

“If you are leading me _toward_ the Duke’s ‘operation,’ can you not just reveal what it is, then we would not need to—”

Morven stopped him, hand up. There were footsteps nearby.

“Lorenz!”

They froze, straining to hear the voice that followed them. It was rife with indignation that he was being made to yell. 

“Lorenz, I have you cornered in this wretched maze! We must speak!” The Count shouted, infuriated.

“Did my father see us leave?!” Lorenz whispered, balling his fist in apprehension.

“It would seem so.” He answered low, pulling Lorenz ahead. “Come, the alcove I mentioned is secluded enough we might hide.”

Their hurried footsteps were muted by the grass and the hedge wall, overlaid by birdsong: but not quite enough to lose them. Their pursuers seemed to keep a steady distance, though their footsteps were just as hard to determine. Morven slipped between two cypress trees, overgrown, and made a shortcut to the alcove: a rose arch leading nowhere, only a shallow inset. It was overgrown enough that they could tuck into it’s right side to be shielded from sight from the coming path.

Morven held back the thorny overgrowth for Lorenz, before sidling through himself. He pressed Lorenz into the Red Tip hedge behind the arch; it had just enough give that the two could stay flush with the arch, and Morven’s dark attire might even camouflage them in the shade.

“What are you doing!” Lorenz spat in a whisper.

“Shielding you!” He put his finger to his lips. 

Having stilled, they could hear nothing yet; even the birds had quieted. It seemed his father and retinue had stopped to get their bearing. That, or it was impossible to hear over their own heavy breathing.

Morven turned slowly, his back to Lorenz, and cupped his hands around his mouth, as if to shout; Lorenz drew his breath in fear he would reveal them.

“_Oh!_” A woman’s voice rose in the distance, in the opposite direction from them. “_Oh, Lord Lorenz! We _cannot_, My Lord!_”

Though he was not, currently, involved with any woman, Lorenz blushed as though truly caught with his pants down. He fought the urge to cover Morven’s mouth, whatever he was doing to cast his voice out: it was expert enough to mislead his father, but he might prefer running to being framed in such a tryst.

“This way, Count.” A guard directed, perhaps to lead Count Gloucester toward the false cries of passion. Morven took a deep breath to continue his illusion: now a man’s low groan rose up near the phantom harlot. 

“_Uhn… Ahh…_” 

“_Lorenz!_” Morven cried again in the woman’s sweet tone. “_My Lord Lorenz, what if someone finds us?!_”

Lorenz did cover his mouth at last: he was enjoying it too much. Morven laughed quietly against his hands, warm and wicked breath spreading between Lorenz’s fingers.

They waited until they could no longer hear the Count’s footsteps.

“Magic?” Lorenz whispered, suspicious.

“Illusion, but not magic.”

“You could have chosen something more tasteful!” 

“What other reason would you be running deep into a garden maze?”

“Hmph!” Lorenz had no alternative. Morven turned again in the tight space to face him.

A few minutes passed. Lorenz waited for instruction, being unfamiliar with the garden maze: Morven made no move to lead him out. He kept his head turned slightly, gazing politely into the bush behind Lorenz.

“… Should we make our exit?” Lorenz asked tentatively.

“Should we? We came here for shade. Now our pursuers had left.” He put his hands on Lorenz’s chest. “I thought you might want to rest a bit longer.”

He was too close. Lorenz receded into the bush a bit more; Morven let him. 

“I have been instructed to do terrible, terrible things, Lorenz.”

“You are a spy, that is generally your job. Why are you telling me? What is it you want, confession?”

“I am ruthless, but even I have misgivings and morals. I would like to break my oaths, but I cannot unless I defect to another house.”

“This again.” Lorenz scoffed. “I have placed more faith in you than you deserve: it is high time you returned the favor. Tell me what your commands are so I might consider your loyalty _later_.”

“I’ve already repaid your faith today: I kept you from your Father’s clutches. Now the scales are tipped in my favor for bargaining. I will tell you all I am commanded, and be indebted to you for the duration of my natural life, to command— even to my death— for a small, simple, negligible gesture.”

“I loathe to hear what ‘small gesture’ would earn such loyalty. Go on.”

“Any intimate gesture you are willing to part with.” He spread his palms across Lorenz’s chest suggestively…

…prompting Lorenz to evacuate the alcove; not even stopping to spare a rebuke. 

Morven caught Lorenz by his vest and jacket, pulling him back in. 

“Such pride; I knew you would not fold. How endearing.” Lorenz still kept his mouth pursed in silence. He looked through Morven, mouth down-turned in disgust. “I am instructed to destroy whatever _alliance_ exists between you and Claude. Anything short of murder.”

“That is all? Ha!" Lorenz laughed at the paltry admission. "You could not; you have already revealed your hand.”

“You are so deliciously naive. You think that all of my manipulations are so plain? You are fortunate I kept my prior ‘work’ in-house: were I to bring in public opinion, scandal, your dear friends— perhaps Hilda— I could have you lashing spells at him within a week… had I not revealed myself.” Lorenz did not respond. He did not move. Morven pressed his case. “I cannot defy the Duke for the _potential_ of joining you: make a contract with me, now, on your word. Bring me into House Gloucester. Buy my disobedience.”

Lorenz looked down on him for several moments. His body relaxed; he removed Morven’s hand from wrinkling his silk vest; dusted himself off. 

“And I must beg for this grand favor— pay for it? Aha.” Lorenz seemed for a moment amused, incredulous, running a long finger over his brow in disbelief. “Ahh…”

It was a feint.

All of the humor left his posture, his graceful manner snapping to sharp angles as he seized Morven: across the chest and by his face, he rammed the butler into the overgrown thorns of the neglected rose arch.

“ENOUGH! I have excused your furtiveness, only to receive blackmail! I have wasted too much of my precious life being being courteous to corrupt Lords, and exploited by the whims of my father; I will not have it from a butler!” Lorenz snarled. “Did you think I would tolerate such threats— against Claude, Hilda— if they were veiled enough, if you were coy and flirtatious? You are not _endearing_ to me!”

“Y-yes My Lord.” Morven gripped Lorenz’s wrists, but did not resist. Lorenz pushed him harder against the thicket.

“You are unworthy to serve me, you slither and connive without my leave, abuse and manipulate me— If my name and my employ were so precious to you, I would not have to bargain with you, or suspect you at every turn. You have spit on my goodwill, then ask for pity.”

“Mistakenly.” He said evenly.

“Finally, some truth!” Lorenz pulled him back, slamming him again into the cutting arch; one of the rotten lattices crackled. “I thought you relished my rare temper?! You make so many vicious claims, and now you will not even fight back!? I see I am witnessing your earnest temperament: the coward behind the illusions.”

Morven would not look at him, answer him.

“You have worn out my patience.” Lorenz threw him to the ground, where he stayed: poised to rise, but belly up and frozen. “Never mind Claude and I: what is the Duke planning, here, today?”

“I was meant to draw you away from the garden center, not corral you with the rest… There are no strawberries and cream waiting for our guests.”

“This is not the time for vague—!” Lorenz started; someone shifted in his peripheral. He drew in a sharp breath, drawing Thyrsus defensively. “Morven, _look!”_ He whispered.

The butler turned on the ground to follow Lorenz’s fearful stare: at the end of the lane, a man with crimson hair and eyes watched them. He looked every measure as cruel and sure as Lord Adalius, red mane unbrushed and wily, yet younger; he smiled softly before he disappeared toward the path on his left.

“That- That was not Adalius! What other Benettos is here?” Lorenz asked himself aloud. Morven was on his feet, axe in hand in seconds. 

“What action would you take, my Lord?”

_To Claude, or to the the intruder?_ Lorenz panicked. _No, Claude can certainly handle any toothless action of the Duke’s alone; but this could well be an ambush. _

“Morven, we set our differences aside. We must capture the intruder. Stay close.”

“… Does it not occur to you I could be working with him? Trapping you?” Morven wondered at him, pulling thorns from his face and shoulder.

“I am forced to put my faith in you again, the enemy I know.” Cornered and cautious, Lorenz’s cruel streak continued to prevail. “Betray me again and your bones will match your neatly charred hands. Lead.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

* * *

  
“Are you okay Claude?” Hilda whispered when they put some distance between themselves and the crowd they were leading deep into the winding garden; guiding them to the promise of sweets, cake and the few exotic fruits the House managed to procure from Morfis. “Maybe we should go find a sitting room.” She was sure he wanted to be away from the nonsense as much as she wanted a nap. It wasn’t possible: Duke Goneril had set her chaperones on her as soon as she made contact with Claude, and they were hovering like horseflies. But she liked to imagine.

“I wish I could… The Duke is rapidly declining, people are already talking. He’s got something planned, too, something bad. I—” After they turned the corner of a hundred year old privet, he stopped, pulling Hilda’s arm to keep her closer. 

There were no tables, no fine cakes or strawberries and cream.

A gallows stood among the mid summer dahlia.


	60. Gallows in the Garden

Claude had seen the platform from the Estate windows earlier in the day: from a distance, it seemed to be a typical dais for making announcements and speeches. In a short time, the rest of it had been built to host several nooses.

“Claude— Hrghggh!— You may send Miss Goneril back to the Estate if she… so… wishes.” The Duke followed up behind them; huffing his words, he turned to Hilda. “I will call an escort for you.”

“I appreciate your kindness Duke.” Her lip quivered. “But I’m Claude’s retainer. I should be here.”

“I would not advise it; in fact, I will not allow it.” The Duke waved to her chaperones, commanding them to return Hilda to the estate: they were happy to oblige, fearful of the situation and ready to die for her— despite their disagreements. Hilda took a fighting stance, as did the chaperones, until Claude lay a hand on her shoulder. 

“Go back to the estate." He shook his head, handing her his deer key. “Lock yourself in my room. You aren’t my official retainer, yet. I don’t want you to see this.”

“There's nothing to see! You're going to stop this Claude von Riegan!” She pointed at him, angry, distracted long enough for Nasira to put her arm around Hilda’s shoulders and lead her gently away.

Claude made no promises; he left Hilda to follow quickly after the Duke.

“What the hell is this: what are you going to do?!” He reached out and seized the old man, nearly throwing him off balance.

“I suppose it is too late now for you to sabotage anything.”

“You hope: out with it!”

“An entire county was sold to the Empire. Many Houses have been revealed to be suspicious in behavior, most of them fleeing Derdriu only to spied meeting with international contacts. House Riegan has been attacked by an unknown party, _my_ heir nearly butchered. I plan to remind all of the Leicester Alliance who is in charge; House Riegan still remains in their minds feeble, collapsing as it was before you arrived. But that will change. Peacetime benefits from fraternity and some friendly competition. War is a time for subjugation.”

“Who are you executing?” Claude withdrew from the Duke in disgust. “Count Ordelia?!”

“Of course not! As a former Great Lord, it would be too provocative. Common spies, however, are forfeit. Maybe a minor Lord or two.”

Claude wasn’t sure he agreed. A show of force made sense: he had been trying to convince the Duke to put his foot down at the Roundtable nearing a year now— But executing commoners was the cowards answer to treasonous Major Lords. And the people he called ‘Minor Lords’ were not so insignificant to the Alliance’s careful balance: executing them would disrupt the Alliance at large. 

_However, they did choose their role, the consequences clear. But how many acted for profit, and how many were coerced, acting by necessity? Under threat and duress? How were they sorted and judged? If I could talk to Lorenz, he would know what to say, what to do… But where IS he?! The Duke is right… it’s probably too late to do anything._ Claude hoped Lorenz would stay busy investigating elsewhere; he did not want him to be a witness. Not just to the hanging, but his grandfather's rapid onset madness. _Then again... I could let it happen… the Duke could clean out the traitors, and I could say I wasn’t party to it… decry his actions as a way to cement my place as a champion for the people… _

His mind ran every possibility, every action he could take, the resulting public opinion, what movements which Lords would take for or against the Alliance after this stunt’s resolution: there were too many variables; Hilda and Lorenz both knew their respective territories Lords better; Lorenz especially knew more about the corrupt Lords in Gloucester: which was paramount in his decision. _But here I am without them. Just the way it’s going to be in the future._ He began to wonder if Lorenz was not mislead by some design of the Duke's.

Claude’s major concern was the Count. Whatever action the Count took could drive more people to rely on the security his age and familiarity ensured: in lieu of Claude himself, the young newcomer who might have precarious ideas not palatable to Fodlaners. This was more of an opportunity for the Count than it was for him: Count Gloucester was only Lord who would surely challenge The Duke, if only to seem the bigger man… and maybe to seize power here and now.

_No, not the only Lord. _

_I can._

“The wheels are in full motion now, ready to careen into certain destruction— Hrugghuhg!— If not steered! I am making a full about with a *HUFF* swift pull of the reign.” The Duke declared, shaking Claude from his indecision.

Suddenly it seemed like raving from an old man who only mimicked his former ability to reason, using it to arrive at mad conclusions. On the first day of the Roundtable he was still an imposing, wise and fair ruler. In a few short days, the Duke had become unfit.

The guests began to arrive in the garden’s center. Those who saw the gallows right away began to back up into those distracted by conversation, causing collision and gaining attention to a rising panic. Some turned back, pushing through the crowd; others moved around the perimeter to search for alternative exits. Riegan guards blocked every corridor in the hedges; they even brought up the rear of the procession to prevent people from ‘getting lost.’

The Duke took to the platform as guards corralled everyone into an audience.

Claude would let him speak until he could decide what to do next.

* * *

“Some may think I am going mad in my old age. You may all fear for your lives, believing this gallows is meant for you. To that I say your mistrust is well advised according to the state of greater Fodlan: but you may breath a sigh of relief knowing any mistrust in House Riegan is unwarranted.” The Duke spoke clearly, a healer at his back struggling to keep his body fine enough to speak without tremor. This might be the last time his voice would ever boom and thunder over a crowd.

“We have in our history a barbaric practice of public execution. Hrugghhg!!! —While it is generally reserved for periods when we found ourselves at war, to grandstand a show of power, I invited you today to console you: consider this private display as a reminder that you are all safe with the Alliance.” The words were absolutely a threat. The Duke emphasized that they were safe _with the Alliance, _not merely _within_ it, and the alternative did not need to be spoken aloud. Doubly telling was that the act was reserved for times of war: if his position had ever been unclear, it was now undeniable.

Here he stood, declaring his position without saying it, threatening at least the lesser Lords who might think they could outmaneuver the Riegan Dukedom, and all without admitting they were at war, or even divided.

“While we are not at war with the Empire— and indeed, we have profited from their partnership in some areas” He looked pointedly at a pensive Count Gloucester “—Some rogue faction has seen fit to invade my Household. When I caught the first spy, I lured the rest like the vermin they are!” The Duke motioned to the nearest guard.

The guard began leading a rope-tied line of Riegan maids, butlers, servants, guards, cooks, stable hands, grounds keepers, and even the senile gate man. They were paraded in front of the gallows, many in tears, some stoic. They were followed separately by a few minor Lords: Berla, the man tried on the second day, heading the group. There were about sixty total: such an extensive invasion had never been recorded. Claude was astonished… So many people he had never suspected. All of his worst fears paraded in front of him: a house full of enemies. Claude began to second-guess his own deference to mercy. For a few moments, guided by shock and betrayel, he thought the Duke was doing the right thing.

Claude waited for the Duke to make more grandiose threats, more time to deliberate in his mind, but his grandfather merely pointed to the first five in the line.

While he watched the strangers, the people who stole his peace and could have killed him at any given moment, march up the stairs, Claude had a revelation. 

Lorenz _would err on the side of justice; _Lorenz_ would be disappointed to hear that I, Claude von Riegan let such an tyrannical act carry on unobstructed... Hilda too._ And so that was the opinion he took for himself: even if he had no mercy in him, and no such misgivings. _I’ll do it for Lorenz. He’s not here but… He doesn’t have to be. I know I can do better because I... he..._

“Stop—!” Claude began to object when he was interrupted: Lord Adalius had found his way to the front of the crowd, absolutely pleased. 

“Duke Riegan! A fine display, and not too soon!” He bellowed.

“I have no need for your commentary.” The Duke dismissed his attempt to pander to his own madness: but the crowd saw him, and the crowd would now fear him by association… or if they thought this display was warranted, they would perceive him as ruthless as the Duke. Capable of doing the dirty work. It could win him votes or lose them the following day.

He smiled, bowing shallow in a gesture of apology.

By the time their exchange was finished, Claude had surpassed the accused to the top of the platform, joining his grandfather. He made it a point to whisper to him instead of making a show of it.

“Stop this, now. These people haven’t been tried; you can only execute without trial during wartime. This will cause a revolt.”

“The minor Lords in custody are only here to witness; the Lords will not revolt over a few commoners.”

“The commoners will revolt! Stop this or I will!”

The first victims arrived on the platform; the Duke made no move to stop them. 

The people in the crowd held their breath: the kinder among them wept, not wanting to play witness to hanging. 

Claude searched for allies— he had to move quickly. Gloucester, Edmund, Lysithea, and Goneril had made their way to the front of the crowd: they were arguing among themselves in whispers. Claude wagered Goneril would support the Duke; Lysithea would be on his side and Edmund would break the tie: but he was fairly impartial. He suspected Count Gloucester would not vote at all.

Claude realized he could do it now.

He could seize power and have the Duke removed. He wished there were not lives on the line when making such a decision; he always looked forward to the day his grandfather granted him the title in a ceremony, passing the torch.

It was a day he dreamed of, and it was not like this. But he could not take the torch from a tyrant: the dream was already gone. 

“Edmund! Ordelia! Goneril!” He hesitated. “Gloucester! Support me in removing the Duke from his position pending an evaluation for feeble mindedness!” Claude called from the platform; he cringed at the language, the proper terminology outdated and insulting. He loathed to declare a man who in better health he had respected ‘feeble’ to all the most powerful people in the Alliance.

Among all of the distress, to Claude’s shock, Goneril was the first to step forward… after Holst slapped him on the back, then shoved him forward with his shoulder. At last, Goneril raised his hand. Reluctantly.

“Ay! But I don’t disagree with his sentiments!” He pointed at Claude. “And I don’t think you’re fit, but that will be addressed directly!” Goneril snarled.

“Agreed.” Claude tried to appease him. He turned his attention to Lysithea, who was already raising her hand quietly. She jumped when Holst tapped her on the shoulder, instructing her to speak her vote.

“Ay!” She voted.

Edmund deliberated with his husband, Alphonse, parsing out options: he was more considerate and nuanced than the other Lords, not prone to panic or pressure. If he was going to weigh in on removing a man who ruled the Alliance for 50 years, it would not be hasty. He would search for every option to find a middle ground or to delay the present issue. While Edmund made his considerations, the Count smiled snidely toward the platform.

“You are not prepared to rule the Alliance. Why should we not vote one of the more senior Great Lords to take proxy?” He challenged.

Claude had no answer. He was not young, but he could not argue he was prepared: not in any way the Count would accept. He was sure half of the Lords in the crowd despised him for his ‘suspect’ origins. Gloucester had the support of numerous nobles that were of his same mind. Claude changed his mind; he would rather Lorenz were here now, hoping he could sway his father as Holst had done for Goneril. _If I had to choose someone, one person to support me, to advise me... Can't I? I can't think about this right now!_

The Count began trying to distract Edmund and sway his vote. Such emergency declarations did not require unanimity, but _did_ require majority. A tie would not suffice.

Claude couldn’t wait for proper recourse: before the accused could be noosed, he walked over to the drop-lever. The hangman stepped aside— he could not strike out against Claude, and so he could not stop him. Claude unsheathed the hangman’s ornamental axe and haphazardly bashed the lever mechanism apart— the drop doors fell, and they could not be raised again. The now noosed and hooded victims waited: they could still be pushed.

Edmund argued viciously with the Count now. If lives were not on the line, Claude would run down to be privy to the words said. The argument devolved quickly, Edmund resolved his position by punching the Count, knocking him to the ground before Goneril could pull him away. 

“Vote damn you, vote!” Goneril urged. 

“Ay!” Edmund declared, seething, eyes darting back to Count Gloucester. “Claude von Riegan now serves as the Lord Duke Official by majority, with a provision for further consideration by a private council.”

Claude turned on his grandfather. 

“This was stupid! You didn’t need to do this!” He hissed under his breath.

“Didn’t I? What a way to end my tenure as Duke: painting a portrait of ruthless unpredictability for Riegans. They will think twice before the defy you, and pull back their efforts until they can gauge you.” He smiled. “Now you get to decide what to do with all of these traitors.” Oswald von Riegan did not resist or struggle when Claude had Devar and Galen return him to his quarters. He let himself be guided from the platform, breathing a sigh of relief.


	61. Lost in the Gardens, Part 2

The sound of the conflict occurring elsewhere in the garden did not reach through the hedges or carry on the wind: Lorenz and Morven chased the red headed man, the Benettos, to the unsettling sound of only heavy footsteps and labored breath. The cries and shouts being issued from the gallows might have been across the ocean.

The intruder was always one corner ahead: each time they caught sight of him, it was only a wisp of his hair or his tailcoats. It seemed to be another illusion. No one could stay so consistently out of reach. Morven took them through several shortcuts that should have cut enough corners to put them ahead of the man, but he was again and again just out of sight. At last, they could not see him at all, and the path split. Lorenz was not willing to proceed alone: they paused, each holding their breath to listen. There were no tell tale footsteps or ruffle of leaves in either direction. He was gone.

Lorenz felt a fool. Whatever resolution he made himself, Morven had still managed to keep the Duke’s order: keeping Lorenz away from the garden center— and away from Claude. On their way back Morven remorsefully recounted all his commands, the Duke’s reasoning, and the preparations leading up to the hangings.

“… The Duke hates me so, that he would cripple Claude’s support base as precaution?” He asked himself, too low for Morven to answer. It made Lorenz sad; he had always been proud of his name, but it was becoming more clear that it overshadowed his good intentions. _Being in love with Claude, I had hoped The Duke and I might—_ “Gasp!”

“Is something the matter, My Lord?” Morven took his fighting stance at Lorenz's outcry.

“N-no. Catching my breath. We should move to the garden center to alert the guard and regroup.” Lorenz instructed. He tried to pass his admission off as a slip under duress— that Claude might be anything other than a temporary indulgence. He had plenty more to worry about now that Morven had revealed all, and did not maintain the luxury to concern himself with something so personal… he told himself. It did not stop the word echoing in his head.

When they arrived in the garden center, the crowd was already dispersed. There were no bodies: Lorenz breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever may have occurred, Claude must have managed splendidly without him if no one came to harm. When Morven told him that spies and traitors were to be hanged, Lorenz could picture, for a moment, Claude giving in to the opportunity to let someone else get their hands dirty to purge those in his house who made his paranoia seem sensible: the people that would poison his tea and sell his secrets. Lorenz hoped better of him, and now it had been proved. His heart humped with pride.

“Where do you think Claude would be now?” He asked warmly when Morven returned from reporting their intruder to the guards.

“The Duke presumed Claude would seize power from him, one way or another… And the guard informed me that is just what happened. Your paramour is now the acting Duke until the Roundtable officials his title.” Morven sounded oddly proud himself; Lorenz assumed he disliked Claude, but now he was curious about their prior relationship. “I would reason he is in the Duke’s council room, consoling the other Lords; if he is not seeing off guests on the front walk.” Morven gestured to a nearby path that would lead them out, Lorenz walked alongside him. 

_Claude is the Duke of a Leicester Alliance. In a matter of an hour… and I was absent._ Lorenz was bereft, but all at once romantic notions began to play through his mind._ I did not expect him to take power so soon… We have a majority on the table for now, but more importantly…_ Lorenz imagined the very same Claude, but now in his fantasies he was ‘Duke Riegan’ when he cried out. He let the chills roll over him at the thought— then suddenly realized Morven had admitted to conning him.

“… You knew the Duke’s intention was to step down, that he would not be in power to command you by the end of the day, and yet you used his ‘power’ over you to try and manipulate me?” Lorenz asked coldly.

“Yes. It was my last chance.”

“I see. Claude will excommunicate you from House Riegan.”

“Yes.”

“So you turned on Duke Oswald to endear yourself to me, to secure a new House.”

“Yes, however—”

“Anyone willing to turn on their liege Lord for infatuation or to look out for himself has no place in my retinue.”

“I understand.” Morven did not argue, though the look on his face said he had many reasonable excuses.

They continued in silence for a short time.

“Where will you go, then?” Lorenz asked.

“Gloucester County; I will stay nearby should you ever have need of me.”

This only rekindled Lorenz’s irritation.

“Why? You terrorize me with your aimless devotion.” Lorenz grit his teeth. “Stalker.”

“House Gloucester, in your service, is simply where I wish to be. You did not rebuke the commoner boy for asking to join you.”

“Ignatz Victor is an upstanding citizen, pure of heart as man can be, and wants to be a painter, not find his way into my bed.”

“… I could be upstanding. But that is not what you need of a servant, spy, or assassin. You need my brand of callous. Lalia could then stay close, and I could go out, get my hands dirty.” Morven reasoned. He seized on the moment to explain his betrayal. “And I turned on the Duke because his orders were ill-intended. I have no trouble doing bad, terrible things, but not for the wrong reasons.”

“What makes you believe I do not have other loyal servants? I simply left them at Gloucester. I could not bring them all with me when Lalia woke me in the night.”

“They are not loyal if they did not fly to your aid.”

“They are plenty faithful.” Lorenz did not have time to explain the manner of their loyalty as they drew near the estate. His loyal servants at home were under the Count’s thumb still, and worked for Lorenz discreetly to preserve themselves: the dynamics of House Gloucester were more precarious than other noble Houses. Morven would not understand.

Unless he saw it himself.

Despite bad manners, he _had_ consistently deferred to Lorenz— over the Duke and Claude and his own security within House Riegan. His methods were underhanded, but functional. Maybe it was time to bring someone ruthless into House Gloucester to reform the power balance... 

Lorenz would not kill his father. But upon return he would do all that was possible to neuter his command. He was not sure he could do much beyond the Estate, but a divided House alone would limit his capabilities. Lorenz was also incapable of terrifying the servants to sway them— his father’s preferred method of ensuring obedience. But Morven might. The thought made Lorenz sick, but he had to start considering the broader Alliance.

Morven was suddenly an invaluable piece. But Lorenz would not tell him that right away. 

He would let Morven pack his things to move to Gloucester County, make him wait, make him worry. Lorenz assumed Morven intended to take up in Leominstaire, the nearest city to the Estate; he would not make himself difficult to find if he intended to be available. As they reached the main stairwell, he turned back to Morven.

“Let me know when my father leaves.” Lorenz left him in the grand foyer, making his way not to the Council chambers, but to his room to wait out his father’s departure: if Claude could avert a tragedy, he could certainly handle the aftermath on his own.

Lorenz could not face The Count just yet.


	62. Come Down, Part 1

After the gallows had been cleared, Claude made a brief statement of needing to assess the crimes of the accused, and that those found to be in bad standing would _properly_ face trial, but not before his own installment as Duke was made official by ceremony. The crowd dispersed as soon as Claude ordered the guard to stand aside, a flurry of tears of relief and anger, threats of how there would be consequences for such a display. Many insinuated, directly or by consensus, House Riegan was counting it’s final days of rule. Most of the threats were empty, but the vicious glare of Count Gloucester (as a healer tended to his swollen jaw and broken teeth) would be followed through with action, he was sure. _I need to find Lorenz_, he worried; but there would be no time for it— and he might make a fool of himself if he saw Lorenz now. He might fall on him and into him with relief. If it really was part of the Duke’s plan, he was starting to understand why Lorenz and Hilda both were sent away.

This was his first experience with a lonely, burdened rule. He put his trust in too few, and as a result he was left utterly alone. Lysithia’s face in the crowd was his only comfort: but she, too, was abandoning him.

It played in his mind over and over: it was humbling to rise the gallows as Lord Claude and descend as Duke Riegan; but it could not compare to the tearful gratitude from the bound staff. Few he was well acquainted with, but enough of them were pleasant background characters in his life: he found comfort in their familiar faces and their mannerisms. Even if he couldn’t trust them, he knew them by name and by footfall. He hoped many of them would be found victims of the Duke’s madness rather than have his Grandfather proved sane and right.

Claude apologized profusely on the front walk as their guests departed, to each individual who would stop and acknowledge him— especially so to the families of the Lords: wives and husbands, young adults and even a few children not prepared for such brutality. It seemed to comfort very few, and most left rapidly, turning away from his additional condolences. 

An hour after the incident, he sat down with the other Great Lords in the Duke’s council room… _his_ council room now, he realized. The meeting was brief: no one would speak at length without time to reflect. He expected more from the Count, but it seemed his usual neutral support with Edmund had crumbled: he was busy seething. The rest made plain observations, and revised the order of events for the following day at the Roundtable before everyone else returned to Derdriu. 

Hilda lingered in the hall, slipping into the Council room after her father was out of sight. 

Claude sat at the big desk, head between his hands.

“How dare you.” Hilda started, fury bounding echoes across the empty council room. “’Be my retainer, Hilda,’ and then you have the _nerve_ to send me back to the estate like a child!”

“I didn’t want to fight with my Grandfather, but you’re right. I just lost my composure.” He spoke from under his hands.

“You’re damn right I’m right! I know you’re trying to protect me, but it’s supposed to be the other way around!” She stopped at the desk, slamming her fists down.

“Maybe I can’t deal with that; maybe you shouldn’t be my retainer.”

“Shut up! You don’t get to make that decision anymore! You’re so selfish! Pushing people away— and why? Because you’re an ‘outsider’? You have to be alone or something stupid and dramatic like that— like your decisions don’t count unless you’re making them alone. Ugh!” She stomped around the desk now, pulling his hands out from his face. “And you’re—! You’re crying about it! Even though it’s _your_ fault you were alone!” Her voice broke. She hated seeing him undone like this— it frightened her. 

“Right.”He said weary. 

“And what did you do with Lorenz? Where was _he_?” 

“The Duke— my grandfather tricked him, I think. Into being away. Probably.” Claude pried Hilda’s fingers from his wrists and dried his eyes. “That’s not the half of it. I wish he was just crazy, but he’s been planning this for _months_. I can’t tell if it’s such a solid scheme that I can’t foresee the benefits, or if he’s just… power hungry in his last days as Duke.”

There was an empty pause between them, nothing left to be said. Hilda had expended all of her anger, and now wanted to do what came naturally to her: comfort Claude. 

But it was too awkward now. 

“I can’t believe your brother got your father to vote in my favor…” Claude picked up the conversation again, slowly.

“Even Holst doesn’t hate you enough to let a bunch of people die. You aren’t just Claude anymore; you’re a leader and a symbol. My dad and brother both know that. “

“Eugh. Politics. Symbols. My first day, and I’ve had enough.”

“You can relax after the Roundtable is over… for a few minutes, at least.” She tried a small laugh. It was an empty comfort. She could make people do what she wanted, but making people _feel_ what she intended was much, much harder. “I’m going back to Goneril soon.”

“Why?”

“After what happened? The assassination attempt, the gallows, and…” She looked remorseful for only a moment. “You know… running around the city at night ‘alone,’ being carried back by Lorenz, both of us clearly suffering from hangovers.” Remembering their shared stupidity warmed her through; she relaxed, and Claude seemed to do the same. His shoulders dropped, and he seemed amused.

“Lorenz carried you through the city?”

“He _did_!!! I cannot believe he is still alive, honestly. Holst was ready to chop him in half before I made some excuses for him!” She laughed genuinely now, before her face dropped again. “All in all, I painted a pretty bad picture of my self control. I’m so stupid. My father is furious, so he’s sending me back.”

“You aren’t stupid. You know what you want.” Claude said suggestively before he caught himself; he switched to his casual-professional tone, quickly changing the subject. ”You’re gonna let him send you back?”

It was too late to change the mood; Hilda was already looking at him with sympathy, a look the usually preceded physical comfort. 

“ ’Let’ is the right word: I’m ready to start training on wyvern. I’m ready to catch up, I’ve been goofing off for two years.” She stretched, circling the desk to sit across Claude’s lap. He straightened for a minute, trying to put together a polite way to deny her… but his reasoning failed as she pulled insistently until his head dropped to her chest. He resisted leaning into her embrace, still; she only pushed herself closer to make up for his reluctance. But his muscles remained knotted.

“You haven’t been ‘goofing off;’ you’ve done so much… for me…” He mumbled into her shoulder. She ran her fingers under the collar of his shirt. “Not here, Hilda.”

“Just a little. I know how you like to relax after bad days.” His new regalia was far too tight— she hated it. Before he was all loose flowing shirts that could be pulled down for a brief foray across his neck, collarbone and chest. Now she settled for his jawline, planting several soft kisses into his new beard. “I’m gonna miss you… We didn’t have nearly enough time together.”

“Mhmhm.”

“I wonder when I’ll be back again...” She hummed, burying her face in his hair as she pulled him closer. “You could train me here…”

“I could... But I need you in Goneril. And I’ll passing through in a couple of months anyway.”

She pulled back, searching him for an explanation.

“Why are you coming to Goneril?”

“I need to arrange some stuff. In Almyra, with allies. You’re coming with me, right? As my retainer _should_?”

She balked.

“TO ALMYRA?! Claude! I’m neVER GOING TO BE ALLOWED— Oh, I want to go so bad though!” She bounced in excitement.

“I need you to be an expert wyvern rider when I get there, or I’ll have to take someone else.” He tried to push her away before anyone decided to stumble into the room and find Lady Hilda Goneril bouncing on top of the new Duke. Instead she pushed his hands away and hugged him. 

“You won’t have to!” Hilda jumped off of him, busy with excitement. “Ohhhh I’ve never even talked to _any_ Almyran who wasn’t a servant— you don’t count— ohhhh! I’m so excited!” She paced while Claude watched her, smiling genuinely for the first time today. 

“Good news, I take it?” Lorenz had entered the room amid Hilda’s squealing.

“Oh. Uhhhhh…” Hilda looked to Claude.

“More like a vacation.” Claude answered, sitting up straight. “And since you’re both here…. I want to apologize for last night.”

“Why?” Hilda asked.

“I might accept, if I remember anything that occurred. Was there something to be incensed about?” Lorenz did, in fact, remember several small snapshots of improper engagement— he did his best to forget. He chose not to embarrass any of them by sharing his recollection.

It was better if they would _all_ forget.

“You both don’t remember anything?”

“Nope!” Hilda lied as easily as Lorenz; her memory just as patchy. 

“Hardly.” Lorenz confirmed.

“Ohhhh Claude, let me guess. You remember what happened, and you’ve been beating yourself up all day. Well. What was it?” Hilda pressed Claude; she was not so squeamish as Lorenz: he was discovering she lacked a certain sensibility for shame he had assumed all Noble Ladies had. It seems he had been misled when taught to favor women who were reserved and demure; Hilda’s excitement about being intimately involved with him stirred a very crude longing. 

Claude looked like he wanted to answer her, to put their affair into words. For a moment Lorenz, too, wanted to hear Claude describe aloud what he could remember.

But it would jeopardize Lorenz's personal self-preservation.

“Perhaps it is for the best for us to forget. I for one only remember being a proper gentleman. No harm has come to me, and I presume nothing occurred which might have long-term consequences.” He looked to each of them for affirmation; they both stared back blankly. He sighed, reddening. He furrowed his brows. “… That which might _return_ on Hilda in few months time…?”

“NO!” Claude stood abruptly, as if he had to defend himself physically.

“I wasn’t _that_ far gone!” Hilda covered her face.

“Then let us never speak of it again.” Lorenz waved it off, though his blush only spread at the necessity of needing to explain himself. If he did not feel repentant before, he now deeply, deeply regretted putting Hilda in any such situation, even if she was willing. Never again. Not me, not without a ring and a covenant he promised himself. He felt, more than ever, the desire to properly court her; provide for her exclusively as soon as possible. They were not students anymore; there were no excuses for recklessness.

“Ugh…” Claude sank into his own hands again, rubbing his face to dispel the embarrassment. “Hilda, Lorenz and I have a lot of political stuff to talk about. You might want to skip out.”

“Yep.” She had seen enough in the garden… but she also knew Claude was lying. She made a flourish to turn and wish Lorenz farewell, dropping a ribbon in the floor through the swirl of her skirts: an excuse to return. She let him kiss her hand, but he wouldn’t look at her. Claude hugged her goodbye, but too quickly and too loose. 

Hilda left to meander to the front yard, until she would ‘realize’ one of her ribbons was missing.


	63. Come Down, Part 2

Hilda left a little to eagerly, Claude thought. But there was too much on his mind now to address it; he didn’t have any more room for suspicion. Lorenz waited quietly on the other side of the desk, hands folded behind his back: it seemed he was distracted by his own thoughts. 

“Why weren’t you at the meeting?” Claude started in slow, preparing to explain his new resolution to Lorenz.

“I thought my father would be here; I gathered news from Morven and the scant remaining staff.” Lorenz answered quietly. 

“Did you find anything in the gardens?”

“I found a coward and an intruder: Morven admitted to misleading me at the Duke’s command, and shortly after we saw a man who appeared to be a Benettos. Young; perhaps Adalius brought one of his remaining sons.”

“I didn’t see anyone else like Adalius at the feast; or anywhere.”

“The guard has been alerted. There is little we can do; I am sure he is far gone now.” Lorenz wanted to explain further, but not now: he was tired.

While Hilda made her wants obvious and did as she pleased, Lorenz remained distant. He stood to stiffly on the other side of the desk, but the way his fingers now fanned out and worried about the desktop was his tell. He was nervous and seeking comfort. Claude could feel it. It would make it that much harder to try, again, to be a proper leader. 

Only this time, a Proper Duke. 

“Lorenz, I—” 

“Let us not be formal.” Lorenz rounded the desk, pulling his hand along the edge, one last tether to his restraint. “I would rather defer a proper conversation until the morning. I heard how you came to your appointment as Duke, and I am shamed I missed it. No, more than shamed. Robbed, perhaps.”

He was speaking rapidly; out of character.

“Robbed?”

“It is not about the politics, the victims… It was a near tragedy, I know: yet I am excited by the drama, the romance of you destroying the gallows. Demanding your birthright, seizing your title…” Lorenz became flustered. “Perhaps it is best I was not there, it can remain as a fantastical story of triumph rather than a horrible event witnessed. In my mind you are very, _very_ alluring when you are in control, using it for compassion and justice.” 

Lorenz was losing his composure; the vision Claude sought the night before— to witness Lorenz losing his sense in the wine and giving in to passion— was now blooming across his face and worried hands. Just as Lorenz exhaled a deep and longing sigh, the knob to the council room door turned without warning— 

Lorenz nearly tripped darting back to the opposite side of the desk. A messenger stepped in and nodded to Claude.

“Can I help you?” Claude asked rudely.

“My Lord— Er, Duke Riegan. A message for you.” The time he took to cross the long room was awkward. Lorenz tried to close the gap, to take and deliver the message to Claude behind the desk: the messenger ignored him to put it directly into Claude’s hands.

“Thank you. You may go.” Claude read the letter, then grunted with irritation. “It seems the people we sent to bring Jericho into House Riegan for protection have encountered resistance. Jericho is refusing to leave his home, so the additional guard are staying in the Anderton house, until additional orders are received.”

“You sent someone already?”

“When he did not come to the feast, it was the first thing I did.”

Lorenz nodded. 

“I am not surprised he is resistant… Jericho behaves as though he is already dead. I will forego the Roundtable in the morning, and go fetch him myself. By force, if need be.” Lorenz massaged the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Was he really that bad? His daughters _were_ safe and he _should_ have been safe; why would he have been upset yesterday?”

“He was delirious- it seems he knows Morley better than either of us: he got what he wanted regardless of our safeguarding.” Lorenz’s voice dropped with regret. “I can only imagine his condition has worsened since he heard news of Dina and Gala being taken. Bad news all around.”

“Not all bad… I’m Duke. I saved a bunch of people. Your father got punched in the jaw and laid out on the ground— I think he lost consciousness for a minute.”

“My Goddess! By who?” There was genuine worry in Lorenz’s eyes for whoever crossed the Count; Claude wondered again how he had any faith-in or love-for his father.

“It was Margrave Edmund, so he should be fine.”

“We can hope… what transgressed between the two?”

“I couldn’t hear them from the gallows, but Lysithea summarized the Count’s insult as ‘of course Edmund would be satisfied with a foreign Duke, as he settled for a fruitless partner and another man’s child for an heir.’”

“No!”

“Yes. Lorenz... I understand why, now, you’re so opposed—” Claude tried touching on a sensitive topic; but he was wrong, and there were more important things to worry about.

“No, Claude, that isn’t it!” Lorenz drew his arm across him as if to banish the notion entirely. “My thoughts are for the Alliance entirely! The political affairs and what is best for the people— that alone!”

“And Hilda.” Claude added. Lorenz looked away, but did not deny it. “You like Hilda more.”

“… It is my job to produce a family. And more than that, I _want_ a my own children— I am _not_ of the same despicable mind as my father, but since I met Hilda ten years ago, I have never stopped dreaming of her, us, our children, and our home. I gave other women a chance: honestly—”

Claude laughed aloud at the notion: so many eligible, Noble Ladies had a _chance_ with the awkward and overbearing Lorenz of their academy days. It dispelled, only slightly, the hurt at being the 'fruitless' option for Lorenz.

“Ahh, I didn’t mean to laugh.” Claude apologized. “I get it.”

“You do _not_.” Lorenz rejected his empathy, his voice even wavered. “Were it possible…” _Both. I would have them both._ Lorenz admitted desperately. 

But his voice faltered again.

“What possible?”

“Never mind. There is no use; let us enjoy what we have now, while we have it.”

“I’m the Duke now; I can change minds and change the rules.”

“I was afraid of that. Please, Claude, do not try.” Lorenz pulled away from the desk. “I cannot bear it. I have, I _am_ giving you everything I can. Please.”

“You’re right. I have been going through it in my head all day; it would be best if I left you completely alone— And Hilda too. Last night was too far.”

“… That is not what I said, or what I meant. I said we can continue what we have now.” Lorenz rejected Claude's self-flagellating.

“No. I’ve realized that would be bad for everyone. Bad for you and Hilda, together.”

“… I beg your pardon? You think just because you are Duke you can rule on my personal affairs?”

“Rule is the wrong word; maybe facilitate—”

“You should not concern yourself with Hilda and I.” Lorenz cut him off, angry. “Just as I am choosing not to concern myself with Hilda and _you_. Neither of us asked you to martyr yourself, for… actually, I do not know what you might accomplish. I have no doubt you would break Hilda’s heart, and I…” Lorenz lost his nerve again.

“What?” Claude asked. He stood to join Lorenz in front of the desk. 

“Only today, I injured Morven for threatening to divide us.” Lorenz took Claude's arm. “Tell me, am I going to have to slam _you_ into a garden hedge, a wall, a desk to make my point? Or can you be reasonable without violence?”

“What’s gotten _into_ you. You’re… full of fire. Bright." The same feeling from the gallows rose up in Claude again: a helpless dependence. "I… I’m so stupid. To think… to think I could have any resolve after what I saw. To think I could, that I’m _supposed_ to do anything by myself. I couldn’t even stop thinking about you while those people were waiting on me to save them.”

“Me?”

* * *

Hilda knew they were alone together, and _why_. And it wasn’t to talk politics: she was incensed by Claude's white lie more than the exclusion.

Claude was a desperate man when recovering from duress— she had spent more than a few days in the garden helping him ‘relax’ with her mouth. _Claude pushed me away… is he really going to do the same to Lorenz?_ She wanted to know the extent of the relationship Claude was hiding from her, and putting her off for: she felt entitled to _that_ much after his sleight.

“Oops, I can’t possibly stumble onto anything indecent.” She whispered to herself as she turned the knob to the council room in silent centimeters.

They were involved enough they did not hear her stealth entry: kissing and whispering. Already Claude had Lorenz lay out flat across his desk, his legs pinned to its front, leaning over to trap him. The moments he leaned up from kissing him about the neck and the face, he whispered another line of affection against his lips, into his hair. Lorenz rolled his head around to accommodate him, clear pleasure on his face.

It seemed Hilda was interrupting some sort of confession. _He must be out of his mind if he didn’t even hear me come in. _

“…I thought of you, in the final moment. I thought what you would do— how you make me a better man. Even standing on the gallows, people waiting to die, waiting on me to save them— my love for you felt so warm in my chest, when I realized: I realized I love you. Even when you aren’t with me, you are. I need you, and I have you, but only for now… I can’t—”

“Shhhh.” Lorenz ran his fingers across his shoulder. Claude took his wrist, pulling him closer by snaking Lorenz’s arm behind his neck. “You were brave. You were splendid— I should have been there beside you. I would stay by your side and see all of your triumphs— I _will_ see all of your triumphs, for years to come, if only from across the table. No matter how we argue, I will always revel in you…”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“I will not pretend I dream of a future we can not possess. I can only kiss you in secret, and hope the day will come where I will have the chance to kiss you once more, even if years span between, even if we must do so behind drapes, in corners and closed rooms.”

Claude looked as though he was going to argue; instead, his face fell and he gave in to Lorenz’s reasoning: he kissed him once more, carefully. 

“Do you love me, Lorenz?” Claude begged.

“I do not speak such feelings in so few words.” _Though I may think them so casually_, Lorenz said to himself, remembering his wandering thoughts earlier in the garden. “I will find the right words in time, but do not demand them of me.”

It was such devotion Hilda had never witnessed— enough to make her blush, and ashamed: she felt very childish for her eavesdropping… But she felt more spiteful that Claude was never so close to her. For all she relied on his ability to keep her boundaries, she had never hated it more: their platonic love with benefits. There was always a gap and now she was seeing what they might be like without it.

While she watched them together— now, the night before, and that night they shared at the officers academy— she wondered what it would be like to have Claude pursue her obsessively the way he did Lorenz. She took to him immediately when he came to the Alliance: was that why their relationship was different? Should she have challenged and rejected him— or was it because their house were not bitter rivals? A marriage to Claude was discouraged, but plausible: a Riegan and a Gloucester married would destroy the Alliance’s dependence on the socially warring Houses that gave people the illusion of ‘siding’ with their best interests. It had all the allure of forbidden temptation.

_Or is Lorenz just better?_ Hilda had never considered it before: he was weird and obtuse, pretentious to an extreme— though she could admit his growing charm. He was aging well, too well, becoming as gorgeous and refined as he pretended to be growing up: when she first met him, when they were thirteen, he was desperately trying to exude refinement. Nearly ten years later, it was starting to work.

She relented that it was simply who they were— no philosophizing or wishing could change it.

“I, uh, dropped something.” She announced tersely from the doorway. “Sorry.”

Lorenz started, head-butting Claude in his alarm, knocking teeth in the same instant. He tried to escape Claude’s embrace, but this time Claude would not pretend they were hiding something scandalous: not in front of Hilda. She knew, he wanted her to know, and it felt good for the moment not to hide. 

Lorenz was not of the same resolve.

“Hilda! We were talking— uhhh— I tripped, he was helping me to get up—!”

“Oh, I could see he was helping you _get up._ I know all about it: I’ve seen him stick his hand down your pants before.” This took them both by surprise. To watch them both redden and stare stunned at once was a treat: and didn’t they deserve it for being a little to blasé about her feelings? She retrieved the dropped ribbon, with a menacing smile she picked up from Claude years ago. “Ah, here it is.”

Claude let out a snort: seeing right through her tactics.

Lorenz pushed Claude off, trying to rectify the ‘misunderstanding,’ but only made himself more obvious by his hand jutting deep and awkward into his pocket: he tried to make excuses all the same. Hilda stopped him. 

“It’s fine, Claude can have you for now.” Hilda winked. “I know how good forbidden fruit tastes.”

Lorenz wheezed with distress, words fleeing him.

“Bye!” Hilda bounded out of the room cheerfully, but made sure her tears were well wiped before she met her impatient father and brother on the front walk to depart.

After Hilda left, again, Claude tried to distract Lorenz from his worry.

“You tell me not to concern myself with you and Hilda, but you try to push me away when I don’t hide from her.” He caught Lorenz by the chin, turning him away from staring through the door in shock. “You’re coming to my room tonight?”

“Perhaps not. With all that has happened, it seems inappropriate to continue as we have… so soon.” Lorenz acknowledged him at last. He was a little forlorn, but took up Claude’s hand for comfort.

“We don’t have to do that. We can just sleep.”

“Ahah! With _you_? JUST sleep? Ahaha!”

Despite his mocking, Claude pulled him closer. 

“Hey, I can be docile.”

“No, you cannot; even as you make that claim you purr with lust. Let me loose.”

“A bath then. Come to the bathhouse with me.”

“You are misunderstanding— I require time alone.”

“Cold.”

Lorenz considered that the opposite might be true for Claude: always alone, his relief might come with company. As much as he had given Claude in the past week, he had to now consider their ties much more closely… he was afraid of their affair’s natural result. It was one thing to toy and engage with _Lord Claude_ behind closed doors; however, he did not want to slip so casually into a sexual affair with _Duke Riegan_, sovereign ruler of the Leicester Alliance. Their situation was changing rapidly. With power came possibility. Claude’s confession of love, just after gaining his new title, was tinged with unreasonable hope. Foreshadowing a reckless proposition.

_Yet, we will probably meet in the bath house by coincidence; no use it making it awkward by avoiding it. _Lorenz reasoned._ I can decide how foolish I want to be from there._

“I suppose a shared bath would not be out of order. It has been a long day. I will meet you there in the hour.”


	64. Speaking Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I put in the WORK for this, and I would do so for more days, but like 20 more chapters need to be written lololol

The Riegan bathhouse, like everything Riegan’s possessed, was almost to splendid to comprehend. It was old as the estate, blending ancient techniques with modern amenities. It was a place that, Lorenz loathed to admit, he always wanted to witness, having heard tales of its splendor from Lords who were friendly enough with the house to be invited as guests. He wondered if any Gloucester had ever set foot on the glass mosaic, watched the water reflect cascading aqua patterns onto the low, whitewash ceiling; noticed the pearly round tiles pressed into the wash that meandered through the light reflected.

Despite the prevailing whites and blues, the room was still warm in color from the lanterns. There were more recent stained glass windows vaulted open to let the night air in for the summer; crickets sang to the tune of the bath gently lapping against the sides of the pool from a breeze that carried in. From the right angle, the stars could be watched from the water.

“The guards won’t let anyone else in; since the attack. It would be awful to get caught in the bath.” 

“Not for Claude von Riegan. How many knives did you bring?” Lorenz studied the leather straps crossing his chest and right thigh, over bare skin and under his short towel; Claude’s innuendo lost on him.

“Enough.” He grinned, trying to keep his eyes from dipping down; each of them were pushing forward in their towels, but bathhouse etiquette was habit— even between lovers. Even alone. For now. “Let’s take this alcove. I like the mural.”

The alcove contained a smaller bath, yet still large enough to host five men. The steam gathered thicker in the domed ceiling, making the risque mural of some pink-haired nymph difficult to appreciate… but Lorenz understood why this was Claude’s favorite. The woman in the picture was taking her own bath among pink rose petals, surrounded by willows and fawns; the mosaic was vague enough it could be Hilda. Lorenz wondered how often Claude came to ‘appreciate’ the art. It did not take long for him to imagine a dozen ways Claude might indulge himself, all along the bath edge and in it, head thrown back and panting Hilda’s name over the years. The thought did not disturb him as he expected… he played it over again and felt nothing of _dis_pleasure.

“Help yourself; I have to take these off.” Claude interrupted, motioning to the bandoliers. He turned away— oddly polite— letting Lorenz disrobe and sink into the bath without harassment. _Maybe he feels it too, our change in positions._

The long day had spent Lorenz's energy. His mind was clouded as the alcove. He spent minutes soaking before he realized he did not bring any soap or scrub clothes. Searching lazily for the bucket that Claude carried in, hoping to share, he found it at Claude’s ankles. Claude was turned away still, cursing a broken latch on a bandolier across his chest. 

Lorenz did not have any more need to politely avert his gaze; instead he allowed his eyes to follow his ankles, up to his calves, his thighs. He had before avoided studying him in any capacity, lest he lose his nerves, but now he had no reservation: he was curious and weak willed, too exhausted to struggle against his own appetites. Regardless of the day’s events (or his sensibility), he was still enticed by Claude’s new title: the way it made them unequal was strangely tantalizing. Before Claude was his peer: they vied for control in every facet of their association… Now Claude von Riegan was his Sovereign Duke. There was power in it, and Lorenz was glad to be ruled over. 

His Sovereign Duke's body was filling out. Claude's back and shoulders showed his axe training, taken up just three months at the monastery before they were divided by war. His arms had been lean, made for pulling a bow and moving quickly; he was more slender two years earlier. The same could be said of his legs, now sculpted by steering a wyvern between them; his thighs were conditioned for control and standing ground, not just maneuvering to keep an archer's distance. _Made for holding down a whole beast under him…_

Lorenz tilted his head to rest on the bath’s edge, wondering if such an angle would make the towel seem a little shorter… he could only just see a suggestive curve dipping down between his legs. Lorenz whined a bit in his throat.

“Did you say something?” Claude turned around, a wet slap from the now-cut bandolier landing on the stone floor. 

“Hurry into the bath.”

“Only after you stop staring at me like a piece of meat.” Claude laughed; his voice dropped to a tease. “You know better, Lorenz… it’s courtesy.”

Lorenz did not make any move to accommodate Claude’s newfound modesty. He let his eyes descend to study Claude bottom to top once more, then held his gaze rudely. 

Claude dropped his towel. Lorenz let his eyes meander about his middle without reserve or excuses, catching Claude off-guard.

“What happened to our ‘positions changing rapidly?’” Claude whispered.

“I am still navigating my options. I cannot plan blindly.”

He continued to stare as Claude dipped into the bath beside him. 

“For now, I am your advisor.” He completed his thought.

“… You wanna consult the _Duke_ about that?” Claude leaned into Lorenz, putting his arm around his neck. “ I don’t remember asking you to be my adviser officially. In fact, I think you declared it while you were in my bed.”

“The Duke is stubborn and flirtatious, but he will acquiesce, and I will become the lone voice of reason in his cabinet.” Lorenz pulled away from Claude, carefully, to not seem cold or rejecting; but he would not give in so easily. “Now I advise you we speak about your daily manner of speech. You do well in the Roundtable, but in conversation you are lacking.”

“Okay, Lord-Count Adviser. Advise me.” He leaned back spreading his arms along the bath obnoxiously. Lorenz tried to ignore the bump of Claude’s knee against his, as he spread his legs beneath the cloudy water.

“Say something a Duke might say. So I can assess you.” Lorenz placed a hand high on the intrusive leg. 

“We’re going to take the border.” Claude said, trying to project authority and intelligence. It echoed in the alcove, the sentence returning to them hazy and warm. Lorenz sighed beside him on the carved stone bench; he tried to seem frustrated, but in truth he loved hearing the distinct voice Claude used for command.

“_‘We are moving to seize the disputed territory.’_” Lorenz placed a finger beneath the point of Claude’s chin, tilting his head back to a more confident vantage, than his typical, suspicious peering. Claude straightened his back at Lorenz’s touch, to match posture to projection. "You must be politely vague, avoid contractions. More graceful; take time with your words."

“No one talks like that.” He complained, dipping his chin down a few centimeters: tilting his head so far back felt pretentious. _But it looks good on Lorenz… not everyone can pull it off. No, Lorenz is pretentious— I’m just weak for it._

“I speak ‘like that’.” Lorenz pushed his chin up again, then slid his finger down Claude’s neck, circling his adam’s apple, to settle on his collarbone. He ran his fingers across it softly to encourage him.

“No one speaks like that-”

“_’Few people speak in such a manner.’_” Lorenz added to his correction. “The politicians who presently look down on your origins ‘talk like that.’ Your diction can change their opinions by making you sound more assured— your blunt language only urges them to doubt you. You could also stand to soften the attitude in your voice.”

“It’s petty. Goneril talks, _speaks_, however he wants.” Claude complained.

“It is petty; not unlike the myriad other nuances to their vanity displays. And Goneril’s origins are undisputed.” Lorenz grazed across the touchy subject before shifting topic. ”It is a performance. You are doing it for the Alliance: ensure your own vanities do not blind you.” His finger continued to trace the contours of Claude’s chest: the dips where muscles met and joined, the arches where they were most prominent, the soft folds that hid his strength when he was so at ease. He reclined, leaning closer into Claude side wise.

“I understand, I just don’t like it.” He ran his finger under Lorenz’s jaw, mimicking his affectionate graze. “Lorenz. Do you grow facial hair?”

“Of course. What a bizarre question.”

“I’ve… I _have_ never seen-"

"-'Noted.'"

_"-nOtiCeD_ a five o’clock shadow. Or stubble. Or even a missed hair.” He glanced toward Lorenz’s lap, though it was hidden in the steam. “…I mean …you have hair everywhere _else_.” He now ran his palm over and under Lorenz’s chin and jaw, down his neck: an excuse to feel him. There was, faintly, the soft pull of some unseen growth. Even at the end of the day it was hardly _notice_able. 

“I am very attentive of my face, and Gloucester’s simply have silky and light body hair. I will not become grizzly until I am well passed middle age.” He explained, then grumbling “…I will go bald soon after.”

“That’s rough.” 

“And yourself? I have noticed you are shaving less; I rather like the way you have groomed your sideburns.”

“Do you?” Claude was beyond pleased: he had neglected his face at the Riegan Estate, but had been waiting for Lorenz to mention the new beard he crafted when he became proxy. “Thought it would make me look more mature.”

“It actually makes you look more like the rogue that everyone suspects. When you open your mouth, the look is complete.” Lorenz chided. “It suites my tastes, however.” He laughed, nudging harder against Claude’s shoulder, hand sliding up his leg. 

“I BELIEVED that such an _arrangement_ of facial hair would _enact_ an air of _suitable respectability_ about my _character._” Claude announced stiffly. He took Lorenz’s hand under the water, sliding it back down in denial. 

“Too many words.” Lorenz laughed again, now at his effectuated ego, before realizing he was being mocked. “Wait. _Ahem_: that’s a lot uh fancy words tew say not much.”

“Hey, I’m not _that_ bad! No one’s _that_ bad.” 

“Ahah! No, but some Lords do hear you in such a common manner, I promise.”

Lorenz let the lesson go; it was not the locale for it. The rigid atmosphere abated, and they relaxed against one another, fingers playing over hands under the water; wandering hands that were each turned back as they ventured, neither Claude or Lorenz willing to let the other have his way. The crickets and heavy air of the bath nearly lulled them into a doze after their playful hands settled for holding. 

“Yyyaaaawwwn. We have to wake up or we’ll drown.” Claude rolled his head back, searching for the bucket. “I do actually need to bathe.”

He leaned forward from the edge, laying across the stone to reach the soaps and scrub clothes. 

“Oh yeah, I brought this.” He held up a small cruet of what seemed to be oil; it was unlabeled, viscous clear liquid swirling inside.

“Poison?” Lorenz jested.

“I can make more than poison. This is bath oil. And the _Saboni_ helped me.” 

“Saboni. Why do you pronounce Saboni with an accent?” Lorenz dipped his head back, wetting his hair. 

“It’s a loan word from Almyra. You’re saying it with an ‘accent’” 

Claude moved to the center of the bath, drizzling the oil in a circle. When the cruet emptied he stood, stirring the bath with his hips and hands. It was sensuous, dance like, intended to rile. _As though he needs to do anything._ Lorenz ignored him and soaped his hair. 

Claude brought the scent of the oil back with him when he returned for his soap; sage and citrus. He rushed his own washing, hoping for the excuse of being ‘finished’ would make it less suspicious to offer to wash Lorenz’s back. _Men of every sort wash each other’s backs. I wonder how long he is going to pretend we are going to be anything but avid lovers… he talked me back from and edge and then plays coy._

When thought crossed him, Claude was considering Lorenz’s suggestion that they might cool their affections. But the idea of something besides avid lovers sparked in him, again, the idea that there could be _more_ instead of less: surely he could outmaneuver politics and Lorenz’s stubborn preferences. If he could not do that much, how could he win a war?

“You know, I wonder. Just hypothetically, I was searching in the library one day, and I thought: have two Major Lords ever married? Or minor Lords? I know _Great_ Lord’s can’t, but I’m genuinely curious.” He asked. The question felt wrong from the moment he asked it; Claude retreated from the subject after making his point. “I mean, it just came up in what I was reading. That-two-Major-Lords-almost-married-but-thentherewerecomplications—” He trailed off quickly, feeling Lorenz become rigid and shift away from him. Claude could hear him stewing over the forbidden suggestion. 

“Not even a half-day as Duke, and already you are trying to force the impossible.” Lorenz said quietly. 

“I was just asking. You’ve had more time to read more things, about Fodlan. I thought, as Duke Sovereign, what if two Lords or Ladies on the council married during my tenure? Has it always been resignation by default—” Claude patched together a reasonable explanation— and it _was_ reasonable, it even made Lorenz curious— but he could see through the act.

“Two Great Lords on the Roundtable cannot be married, Claude. Least of all Riegan and Gloucester.” Lorenz answered plainly, a tinge of hurt in his voice. “One of us _would_ have to resign: and which county are we willing to submit control of? Riegan County and Gloucester County represent the two most powerful regions— if we can hold them both and work together in secret, the Alliance will flourish as it never has before.”

“Well, since _you_ brought it up—” Claude tried to return to a carefree, casual tone. “—Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to just be out with it? Being friendly, I mean. Imagine if we could agree publicly. It would set a great example.”

“Our positions demand we appear at odds. It gives the security of option, should the nation ever become unsatisfied with your rule. If they felt they had no recourse, any uprising would be more violent without an alternative Lord to elect… Not that I predict you will be anything less than fair and just, however you cannot please everyone, and you certainly won’t please the corrupt: forces may gather against you regardless of your efforts.”

Claude could hear the frustration in Lorenz’s voice, but he had come this far, he pressed again.

“So… so what if it wasn’t public.”

“If… if it is not public, what is the point?!” Lorenz snapped. “Marriage only serves for bureaucratic purpose: land holdings, domestic rights… c-child custody!”

“That’s not all of it, it’s for love—”

“It most certainly is not.” Lorenz drew away sharply and seized his towel from the bath side, emerging quickly and wrapping himself at once. “Marriage is what two people do to secure their status and reinforce their Household foremost. It is transactional. Love is a luxury. It is rare the two coincide.”

“A luxury you never stop writing about. Or talking about, when you talk about marrying Hilda. For all the love poems you write, you really are a pessimist!” Claude’s voice rose at his own mention of Hilda; for shame more than anything— he had said too much. Again.

“I wrote about love, not marriage. I am a realist; I will not consider it another moment!” Lorenz ignored the comment about Hilda, priding himself on at least being civil. He wrapped his towel more tightly, preparing to leave.

Claude pounced him from the bath, pulling Lorenz back down onto the warm stone, bringing waves of water with him.

“Fine! I’ll stop _speaking_ about it, but you don’t get to stomp off.” 

Lorenz crumpled willingly, as Claude grabbed him by legs then hip then shoulder, until he was on his back.

“…You really do say all the wrong things.” Lorenz whimpered as hot water cascaded under him. “Let me alone.”

“No.” Claude threaded his fingers through Lorenz’s hair; with his thumbs, he wiped away the bathwater from the corners of Lorenz’s eyes.

Lorenz put up a false resistance; in truth (a truth he could not escape), he enjoyed the flex of Claude’s arms as they held him in— Claude’s strength pushing against his own. Each time Lorenz pushed back harder, Claude grunted in struggle, pulling tighter and rising harder against him. 

“Do you really want me to let you go?” He whispered coarsely.

“Only enough to reach down.” Lorenz begged. “Otherwise I might escape.” He teased, laughing softly even in his sorrow. _It is not Claude’s fault but… oh Goddess._

Claude took Lorenz’s towel from him, pinning his legs, pressing together at the middle. Lorenz was warm and smooth and wet and hot beneath him; Claude never thought he would be so blessed, to see Lorenz so yielding. He had imagined it— but never so perfectly. Never did he imagine that their star-crossed positions would make it sweeter... and make him harder.

“You’ll never stop me trying Lorenz. I know you love it; you love the way I pursue you. And I will, until—”

“Hhn!” Lorenz cried out, not in pleasure, but in despair. 

Claude bit his lip, stopping himself from making such hopeless declarations. He let his body relax over Lorenz, weighting him down to slip his feelings into Lorenz’s mouth by tongue. Lorenz flinched at the intimacy through his tears, but gave in— unwilling to waste another moment. 

Claude gripped Lorenz’s hair in a fistful, slipping a thumb into his mouth while they lapped and ebbed against one another, scattering kisses and the occasional hard nip across Lorenz’s neck. Roiling in the eddies of steam, for a moment they were relieved of their responsibility: they had already given in and nothing could stop them for the moment. Lorenz snuck one unrestrained hand between them, struggling to grasp Claude’s dick while he slid back and forth against him. He was met desperately, Claude pushing into his touch, groaning against his throat. 

“Both- Lorenz- Do us both-” He muttered between bites.

Lorenz obeyed, shimmying his back to bring them closer still, until he could wrap his thumb awkwardly around his own cock— trying in vain to match the tempo of Claude’s hips. Pinned as he was, he could only lay and let Claude’s dick thrust slowly across his, still slick from the sage and lavender bath oil that clung to him.

“Oh fuck.” Lorenz whined.

“Lorenz. Language…” Claude scolded in his ear.

“Pardon… my… mmn… Duke Riegan.”

“Unngh…” Claude let up just enough for Lorenz to shift with him. “_’arini turianiy kayf ytmu dhalka?_ You are my adviser after all.” He purred gorgeously in Almyran. Claude’s desire was clear… yet Lorenz ached to know what longing was hidden in the warm, foreign speech.

“W-h… What?” He begged.

Claude savored his confusion. He added his palm over Lorenz’s, 

“I said are you going to show me how it’s done?” Claude teased; Lorenz was eager but inexperienced. “Hold still.”

It was difficult to still himself, with Claude wrapped around him in hand and body, especially when he let up slightly to reposition: Lorenz could still move, or escape, turn the tables… but he enjoyed being on his back.

Claude put his knees between Lorenz’s, pulling himself forward on the wet stone, pushing Lorenz’s legs apart with his own until he was flush against him. The heat made him shimmer like polished bronze, dripping over Lorenz; dark, thick curly hair scrubbed against him, balls caressing together with on final push of his legs.

“Give me your hand.” 

Lorenz offered it up tentatively. 

After kissing him along his knuckles, Claude wrapped Lorenz’s hand more fully around their cocks. His broad, porcelain knuckles cascaded and flexed as he became accustomed to the feel of handling_ more than one_. He looked down, flushed across his face and chest, and up again to Claude for confidence. 

“Mmm like that…” Claude shuddered, whispering to himself. “_Almasini... Habibi_. More.” 

Claude guided him for a moment, before moving his hand to take Lorenz’s cock; a half-hand difference from his own, neglected at it’s tip.

On edge from bathing together, and from their tension and it’s breaking, sensitive as usual, Lorenz lost himself in moans of frantic pleasure right away.

“UuH! Nnn! Yes!” Lorenz cried as he surged under him. “I can’t… I can’t…!”

“_Cannot_.” Claude whispered correction. “Cannot_ what_?” 

“I can’t endure it! Mmm!” His hand worked smoothly but rapid, perfect as ever. “Ah! Claude! Duke! Riegan! Ah!”

Claude’s hair stood on end; his title was electrifying in Lorenz’s voice: more like power and control than a burden.

“Again.” 

“Duke Riegan! Ah!” Lorenz grit his teeth, body coiling on the wet stone. The stroke of his hand became more potent, his shoulders curled in toward his ears as he shuddered, coming across his stomach and chest. 

“Fuck— fuck yes Lorenz, come for me, ahhn! Yes! Fuck!” Claude shook Lorenz’s hand from his dick, perfecting his tempo to come over Lorenz again. “Hahn! Lorenz! Lorenz! Tell me you want me!”

“Claude, please…” Lorenz set up on his elbows, breath heavy. “Please…” he begged indiscriminately, but he would not look away from Claude’s hands where they worked.

Inspired by his breathless whine, Claude took Lorenz’s hair, kneading it softly in his free hand.

“Claude…” Lorenz groaned deeply. “Do not make me wait… Unh… I grow overheated… at the sight of you.”

When he strummed his sleek, white fingers down Claude’s abdomen, into his hair and under, Claude finally let out: pooling across him in thick ringlets. 

“Yesss.” Claude growled. “ Finally. Again. And again tomorrow, every night I’m going to… hmmph.” He noted Lorenz was red allover now, well cooked. “Lorenz?”

No response. 

“Fuck.” 

Claude brusquely wiped Lorenz down and carried him into the dressing room to fan him awake. 

“Lorenz?”

“Mmh? What? Is the bath finished?” His head lolled. “Take me to bed.”

Claude did as he was told… 

… Declining to confer with his Adviser in which bed he should be placed.


	65. Roundtable: Day 5, Part 1

Lorenz woke in his own suite. The night before was pleasantly hazy; he could recall fainting in his absolute pleasure, but even when he came to, he let Claude worry over him and carry him back. _I must have fallen truly asleep along the way. Conducted to my room by the Duke like a child at the end of a hard day of playing… fighting with Morven like an incensed schoolboy, playing chase with an unnamed man and playing again in the bath. Goddess I do need to return home. _

There was a serious day ahead of them: Morley’s trial, and the election for Lysithea’s seat. Lorenz would leave their gallivanting in the days passed alone for now— it seemed Claude was doing the same by returning him to his own room. Lorenz was bitterly proud of him: though robbed of one of the few fleeting nights they might spend together, he was glad Claude had the sense of his new position. Even the remaining, loyal house staff would lose faith if the freshly-titled Duke was still so deeply involved with his opponent’s son— so careless. Still, his regret was deep that he did have the opportunity to fool himself again into one more tryst. He sighed into the dark._ I really MUST leave soon. I will take up in Riegan Hall tonight and… leave Derdriu with my father._

The thought made him feel chilled, even though another sweltering day pressed already through the dark windows, the muggy night air beading on his skin to cool him further. He jumped when the door opened, goosebumps raising along his shoulders over again.

“Lorenz?”

“Yes, Duke Riegan?”

“I will have King saddled for you; we should fly into Derdriu in an hour.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Lorenz waited for Claude to acknowledge him or leave. He stood in the doorway uncomfortably. Opening the door a little wider, Claude squinted into the dark.

“I will need your council in the ready room before the Roundtable.”

“Yes, your grace.” It was too dark, even with the hall sconces highlighting a sliver of Claude’s face, for Lorenz to see if his formal language excited or burdened him.

He smiled softly, Lorenz could tell only by the faint dimple in his cheek.

“I will see you at the wyviary.” He was reluctant to leave, making more small talk.

Claude’s reluctance was rewarded as Lorenz lit the lantern at his bedside, bathing his blanket-pressed body and tousled hair in warm light. 

“Is that all? I must dress…” Lorenz left the statement open for invitation.

“Ah. Yeah.” Claude said awkwardly before backing out. “Oh, except, Leonie has already left by horseback. For Riegan Hall. She will be your escort today. With Morven.”

“I see.”

Claude lingered a moment more, before nodding and shutting the door.

Lorenz huffed, running his hands through his hair.

“Stupid, foolish Duke. Foolish Lorenz.”

He made a long detour in the private lavatory, reliving their bath house fling in hurried strokes.

  
* * *

  
Lorenz’s advisory in the ready room was brief, stifling. Letting Claude tie him into the wyvern saddle, lace him into his training bodice and watching him sway against the stars fading into dawn was a mistake. When Claude emerged from Riegan Hall dressed for command, again Lorenz allowed himself to admire him a little too long, and it made him weaker again in the chest and below his stomach. The feelings he was supposed to be tempering were at their ripest, as they should be in the honeymoon of their affair; were they lower Lords or commoners, in another time or country they might spend the days rolling in bed, savoring the hours, weeks and months after such confession.

They had scant minutes, spending them laying waste to Claude’s, the Duke’s, desk; each stopping the other from popping buttons or tearing fabric where they clung and pulled. Bending Lorenz back over historical, regal desks was a new favorite position of Claude’s, and, except for the worry of ink stains, Lorenz found it gratifying to be so privileged.

Claude breathed heavily words he had repressed the night before, not possessing the sense to keep them to himself.

“—Maybe you can’t say it now, or won’t for pride, or won’t say it in so few words, but I’m waiting to hear it. You might need to leave hastily, or maybe we won’t get the chance to speak privately again. It could be years, and I know you’ll never send your love to me in a letter where anyone might capture it—”

Lorenz basked in Claude’s roundabout begging to hear his admission echoed back to him; ‘_I love you;_’ Claude said it as many times as he liked, and it suited him to be so inelegant in his declarations. Lorenz only hummed and tightened his embrace, pushed his lips harder against Claude’s mouth, insinuating reciprocation but not speaking it. It was driving Claude mad.

“Off, off!” Lorenz seized Claude by his collar suddenly and thrust him away. “We have wasted precious time!”

“A matter of opinion.” Claude pulled at the seam of his pants, adjusting. 

“Remember.” Lorenz spoke stiffly, re-buttoning his crumpled shirt while he stumbled over reminders. “Today is your chance to corner Morley, but do not let yourself be baited. You might feel you have the upper hand, but in truth he does: though you are putting him to inquiry, only he knows all of the information. The inquiry is not about his ties with Jericho— do not let your frustrations slip.”

Claude whipped Lorenz’s jabot around his neck, tying it just enough to pull him in by it. 

“I will not lose my temper. And you don’t lose yours while you bargain with Jericho.”

“No promises; I have no patience for such self-pity.”

“Hypocrite.”

“My self pity is productive. I assure you, were _my_ daughters missing I would not be sitting in my home, my own safety be damned.” Lorenz spoke as if Jericho’s children _might_ be his own, passing self-righteous judgment on Jericho. “In fact, I may just pursue them myself. Has there been any news?”

“No.” Claude became serious. “Only Alvina; she said she could find no sign of them at Morley’s Estate. Which places them at the bank.”

“We have more opportunity to investigate the bank…” Lorenz considered Morven again, who seemed to slip in and out without incident. He would prefer not to depend on him yet, to give him such hope that he was useful, but pride would not put him off of certain rescue. “You look concerned.”

“Her handwriting was off… which is not abnormal, she probably wrote it in a hurry. I just can’t help suspecting everyone after what happened yesterday.” Claude worried she was compromised in the back of his mind, but he tried to excuse it as a symptom of being overworked. “But the Duke was right… I have to make more friends. Keep those loyal close. I can’t afford to suspect Alvina right… at the moment.”

“Considering the breadth of the infiltration, I would conclude you cannot afford to be trusting. Your paranoia has proved to be true; do not second guess yourself.”

After another brief foray of hands pushed aside and kisses taken and then turned away, they were able to part ways for the day ahead.

* * *

"Let us call to convention the Summer Roundtable of the Leicester Alliance, year 1182. Session number one-thousand, two-hundred and twenty four. Day Five." Claude announced with the bang of a gavel. “The first order will be formalizing my emergency installment as Duke in light of the former Duke’s mental infirmity. Any Great Lords who would like to voice their concerns may do so at this time.”

The Count and Duke Goneril both raised their hands in objection, Goneril starting in on his grievances without waiting.

“My concern is your youth, and your flippant disregard for tradition and respect.” He announced, drawing a solemn nod from Count Gloucester. Claude and Hilda’s own scandal from years ago still poisoned his judgment; it was a situation Claude had planned to seek council for, but he could not bring himself to let anyone else in on the scandal: both for his own embarrassment and that word getting out would only make Duke Goneril more hostile.

Claude grit his teeth against the accusations: their ONLY source was Gonreil’s distaste for him. Goneril did not have the foresight to see how his complaints would embolden Gloucester: he plowed forward indignantly.

Goneril was half as bright as the average Lord, but understood threats to character like any man in power. 

“I understand Duke Goneril that you and I have not seen eye to eye in the past, concerning _affairs_ of House Goneril, but this council is larger than our _personal_ history. I am willing to open a survey into my credibility, if you would like to bring evidence against my character… concerning our own _private_ disputes.”

While Duke Goneril was menacing, he was also not a planner: he did not think of the consequences of his words, or their natural resolution. The corners of his mouth twitched in anger. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would not submit myself to an inquiry? Please clarify what I would not do, Duke Goneril.” In the crowd, Holst rubbed his face in humiliation, while Hilda sat _delighted_ beside him. Lysithea’s gaze bounded back and forth between Claude and Goneril, Edmund sat unconcerned, and Gloucester seemed as pleased as Hilda, believing he was about to learn fresh detractors concerning Claude's character. 

“Never you mind! I will defer my complaints for a day when you wield your power improperly and evidence yourself to be poorly. I do not think it will take long.” Goneril rescinded his complaints.

Claude was relieved Lorenz was not present; the tension would already start people asking questions, and searching for the cause of the disunity between Claude and Goneril. Lorenz would be the first to pry, knowing that Claude’s only point of contact was Hilda._ Hilda got me into this mess, I thought she might have resolved it with her father by now; at least a little._ He resolved to talk to her later.

“I will not be dissuaded so easily.” Count Gloucester seized the table. “You are too young. Your uncle, Godfrey, and Oswald were both thirty five before taking the seat. You are… what? Twenty?”

“Twenty-One.” He wanted to argue twenty two, his birthday rapidly approaching, but it was a child’s tactic. “Old enough to sit at the table.”

“That is a general rule, the needs for a Duke are more stringent.”

“I understand that you have little faith in my knowledge of policy, but any good Duke would depend on his Council for guidance; I am more than willing to defer to wisdom where appropriate. That being said, there is no official rule that the sitting Duke must by thirty-five, to my knowledge.” He looked to Edmund.

“You know he is right Gloucester. And every complaint you bring against him will be underwritten by some policy somewhere; you know well that I can recite them word for word. We waste time spelling them out for your vanity. Please stop embarrassing the council, we have an audience.” Edmund sneered at him triumphantly, as though he could still see the swollen bruise he let across Gloucester’s face the day before. The audience let out a low laugh. Edmund enjoyed humiliating him; due to the Count’s prejudices, Claude could now presume Edmund was tentatively on his side.

_One down_ he counted: _half of Edmund’s support and half of Goneril’s, at least where the Count is concerned._ Lysithea would soon be off the table, neither Lord Benettos nor Morley friendly to his goals. _All this turmoil and I don’t even have one full ally._

The Count remained silent, glaring through Edmund as he searched for another formal complaint that could be lodged besides his own personal spite.

“Withdrawn. I am of Goneril’s opinion, we will let you evidence your own failings—”

“Don’t count my statements as your own, Count Gloucester.” Goneril snarled.

“What can I say; on occasion you manage to form a coherent opinion.”

Goneril stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a thundering scrape across the wooden stage. Lysithea recoiled from him as he leaned diagonal across the table to point down at Count Gloucester.

“So help me Saints, Charlton, I‘ll wring your grimy— !”

Claude banged the gavel.

“Sit down!” He commanded, trying his best not to sympathize with Goneril. “We have business to attend, and now that we have established the maturity of the table at large, I’m sure we can all compose ourselves and continue without interruption!” 

Goneril and Gloucester both reddened— in combination rage and shame: there was no better argument _for_ Claude’s place on the table than to watch men twenty years his senior behave so rudely. He resisted a smile while adjusting his papers. They settled in their high-chairs as the auditorium quieted their murmurs.

“Addressing the _former_ Duke Riegan’s actions, I have arranged a series of trials, beginning with the minor Lords. Tomorrow I will remand them to their Houses under guard while they await trial. The commoners accused will be investigated individually and tried in batch considering their numbers.”  
  
Nods all around from the table, no objections, Claude continued.

“We will now proceed with the inquiry against Lord Rowan Morley. Lord Morley, please approach the podium.”


	66. Rountable: Day 5, Part 2

Lorenz made his way around the city before going to the Anderton house. Before he confronted Jericho, he would need to secure somewhere else for him to stay: somewhere tied to himself and his own finances, and not Claude. The less House Riegan was involved, the better: despite the inquiry that should be taking place that very moment, Lorenz had no doubt Morley would sidestep any accusations and win the election by a narrow margin. For House Riegan and House Morley to become opponents would sow unneeded disunity. The Riegan guard they sent out to search for Dina and Gala were already risky, though not uncalled for, but sheltering Jericho would solidify any suspicions that Claude was privy to Morley’s personal affairs.

It took hours to find a suitable hideaway, even with Morven’s expertise. And money: Lorenz thought it suitable that Jericho’s risk ultimately paid for his security. Hiding someone in such a populous city should be easier, but there were too many witness’s. It was expensive to keep mouths shut.

Incidentally, they passed through the market on their way to Jericho’s home: nothing was so urgent that they could skip eating. And since they must eat, there were a few minutes to spare perusing while they nibbled on street food. Lorenz would prefer to sit down, but this was a fine excuse to delay their unannounced visit— and what would surely be a kidnapping, forcing the man from his own house for his own safety. 

Lorenz searched for the perfume stand in the busy throngs, the one which weeks ago had some pink concoction that reminded him of Hilda. It was frivolous, of course; he touched the rose brooch around his neck. _Hilda is a bit frivolous, in a thoughtful manner. An indulgent reprieve. She deserves reciprocation._ He allowed himself, money in hand to test the perfume this time (in poor taste without coin). It smelled every bit like Hilda’s charm, her brook-like grace, bubbling and bright. 

“Who is that for?” Morven recoiled at the overly-sweet smell.

“Leonie.” Lorenz answered sarcastically. His eyes drifted to the booth to their left which offered myriad knives. _I should surprise her when she returns from her hunt for food._ He became distracted while Morven sulked beside him.

“She does not strike me as the type. It’s for Lady Hilda.”

“Of course. Leonie calls such perfumes ‘stench’ and detests their overuse.” He picked up a particularly sturdy knife to test it, but it was poorly balanced. “Why are you pouting?”

“I do not find Lady Hilda endearing as you do. Without infatuation, her poor character is much clearer.”

“Ah. This one.” Lorenz paid the surly knife-woman for a gilded Almyran piece: the plating was thin, but the feel of it was excellent. It was slightly too small for his own hand, but then Leonie’s hands were more boyish: broad, but still small. “Hilda’s beauty may not be comprehensible to the common eye, but to detest her is unfair.”

“Flamboyant. Lazy. Childish.” Morven had witnessed the way she treated Claude and Lorenz alike. “Manipulative, and infidelitous—”

Lorenz became rigid and defensive, clutching his new knife. 

“How _dare_ you—”

“No, he’s right. She’s flamboyant and lazy.” Leonie had returned, echoing Morven’s reproach through a mouth full of food as they returned to their horses. “Hilda is just nice enough to get what she wants. And pretty. Oh heaven, she’s _very_ pretty. It works.”

“See? I am not wrong. And besides...” Morven eyed Leonie, sure she was wiser than she looked. “I’m not entirely… 'fond' of women.”

Leonie choked on her food.

“Ha! Hahah! Oh wow.”

“I do not understand. Leonie, how can you laugh? He is insulting you.”

“No, no he’s not. It’s okay, I’m not 'fond' of men either.” She winked. A knowing smile curled the corners of Morven’s lips.

“Rude.” Lorenz reprimanded her. 

“I like you.” He approved of Leonie, before turning to Lorenz. “She gets it.”

“Well, I do not. Come, let us ruin poor Jericho’s day.”

  
* * *

Lord Morley ascended the pulpit, and stated his full name for the record. 

Claude began calling names from the list of plaintiffs against him. Name after name, his accusers failed to show.

“Also absent.” The sinking feeling grew deeper as Claude crossed through the fifth person on the list. The other great Lords looked just as uncomfortable with the turn of events: it was too obvious. His grandfather would have continued down the list, but Claude wanted to set a new standard for blunt efficiency. “Lord Morley, do you know why the people who filed grievances against you suddenly have cold feet?”

“I was waiting for you to ask; I resolved many of the disputes throughout the week. Why they did not seek council with me personally before bringing their complaints to the Roundtable remains undisclosed, but I sought out reconciliation as a gesture of good faith. Most of the disputes were lost paperwork, syntax errors in contract, misinterpretations… mishandled disputes that required compensation. I hardly thought I should waste the council’s time. I prefer to manage my own affairs, take responsibility for my own mistakes.”

Claude began to wonder if there was ever a legitimate complaint— or if he wanted the opportunity to grandstand about his skill in diplomacy just before the vote. It was possible… If Claude did not know more about Morley than he should, he might have written it off as a clever tactic. But he pressed on.

“There are eight more names; have you resolved each dispute?”

“Yes.” 

Claude was wary of such an abrupt change of heart, and without notice. Lords were spiteful, and commoners were bold: eleven people would not let such extortion and injury go all at once. Many or most of them might takes bribes, but not all: there was always one stubborn, prideful fool in any bunch. _Who might be dead_, Claude considered. He stood to better project his voice through the galleries.

“If there is anyone present who filed a grievance against Morley and would like to argue their case, please step forward now, or your case is forfeited.”

There was all manner of uncomfortable shifting in the audience, but nothing of approaching footsteps. 

“If anyone is here that would like to speak in Morley’s favor, as proof that he resolved these complaints personally, please come forward.” He tried again to beckon anyone at all. 

Again, the muted sounds of the galleries was remained even. _Something isn’t right. Morley would have asked at least a few to speak on his behalf as proof that he resolved the issues himself._

“I did not see it necessary to waste their time any more than yours, your grace. They have more important affairs to see to than attending my ego.”

A decision needed to be made. The case could be dismissed, should be… but Claude also needed to set a stricter standard: investigations did not evaporate for the absence of accusers, which was too easy for powerful Lords to arrange.

“With neither evidence or support, this hearing will be postponed—”

“I beg your pardon?” Morley interrupted. Incredulity echoed in his voice as it did throughout the gallery.

“The complaints brought against you were fairly serious; one of them claiming bodily harm at the hands of your security agents. We need at least a letter of recommendation undersigned by half of the—”

Edmund cut him off.

“Duke Riegan, it is irregular to demand evidence in the absence of plaintiffs. Typically we would dismiss this situation as if it never occurred, to save on paperwork.”

“That has too much potential for manipulation. And it’s not abnormal to demand evidence of reconciliation in light of the _convenient_ absence of plaintiffs.” Cladue leaned forward on the table. “I will not prevent Morley from participating in the election. But his formal installment will rest on the testimony of his accusers. It’s best to clear his name going forward, as a Great Lord.”

The senior great Lords looked around the table at one another; irritated that their _laissez_ style of rule in the favor of wealthy Lords was now under scrutiny. Claude realized this would pit the three against him, creating a common ground even between the Count and the others.

“I support Duke Riegan’s decision.” Lysithea added confidently. “I’m disappointed that our most senior Lords seem content to let the character and misdeeds of your peers remain dubious. The Leicester Alliance is in it’s final days if such preference for corruption continues. If I were Duchess, each of you would be held accountable for the consequences of your inaction.”

_Then stay on the table!_ Claude wanted to implore her there; but after her outburst at Riegan Hall, he didn’t dare… then he thought better of it: she was too divisive after all. 

Goneril and Gloucester seemed to be perturbed by her condemnation: could this possibly be the daughter of the same Count Ordelia who was so easily manipulated? They said nothing; they didn’t need to, fortunate the other Lords shared their view that she was still a child and her opinions counted for little. If spoken by a Countess ten years older with a commanding voice, it would have shook the foundations of the table, running deep chasms between the five houses, prompting outside action that would eventually lead to an intracontinental war.

Although Claude loved her boldness, at first wanting her fresh eyes and sharp tongue on the table, he saw what his grandfather meant about pulling punches. She was too heavy handed for the delicate balance they found themselves in. He, too, was lucky everyone else still saw her as a child. 

A few more stunned moments passed.

“… At this time, Morley’s inquiry will be deferred, we will continue with the election.” Claude announced to no objection. Again, Lysithea had expertly distracted the table so his motion, his break from tradition, could carry on while the others were dumbfounded. “We will now begin a free period where you may convene with your peers and seek out the candidates for brief questions. Votes will be taken before the recess and counted after.”

Morley’s trial falling flat, Claude became reticent while the rest of the floor hummed with Lords seeking and giving counsel, arguing amongst themselves, and the odd genial conversation. Fresh anxiety washed over him; he knew it would be tricky to maneuver Morley’s inquiry, but he did not expect that he would simply be denied the chance to prove him corrupt. _But his plans aren’t all bad— if only we could tie him to the empire. _He gave in to fantasy._ Maybe this is all a misunderstanding— maybe the kidnapped girls and stolen crests are his only wrongdoings… the evil we know is better than Adalius. Count Gloucester himself has done worse, if rumors are to be believed. _

Claude tried to distance himself from the knowledge that his late Uncle’s death was no accident. He wondered if Lorenz knew— unlikely. _But I can’t consider this now. Gloucester is an Empire cooperator, Goneril is a warmonger, Edmund is bureaucratic to a fault— and hiding something. Is Morley so bad?_

He searched around for Lysithea, just as she returned to her chair. She had finished pretending to hear her countrymen’s choice opinions, which she regarded as self-important pandering to the most-threatening candidate.

“The Lords of Ordelia want me to vote for Adalius. What about you, Claude?” She slipped into casual speech while no one was nearby.

“Good question.” He could no waste his votes on the good natured Lords— they had already lost. If he chose to side with them, he would be seen as weak and indecisive for the remainder of his rule. The other Lords knew Morley and Adalius were the only true candidates; though a vote for Everlionne would still be counted in public opinion as safe and sensible. Neutral. A throwaway for both him a Lysithea, to let the other Great Lords decide between Benettos and Morley.

_Blood mages or an unethical banker? Morley’s proximity means I have more opportunity to watch and control him. Maybe._

“I’m voting for Morely.”

Lysitha nodded: she already knew, it simply took Claude longer to come to terms with the choice. She became somber.

“Claude. I really am sorry I cannot offer more, or stay, or explain. Maybe someday you can understand; I can articulate why. But it’s just not possible.”

“I know Lysithea.”


	67. Cold Tea

Lorenz arrived at the Anderton House much the same as earlier in the week: barely welcomed to the hollow and dark home, conducted again to the library while Morven attended the horses. The air of deafeat, of mourning was thicker. He sat in the same chair in the same light while Leonie guarded the library door. It was almost unbearable now. Lorenz choked on his condolences each time he tried to start, and silence accompanied the cold air.

“Tell me. Do you think both of my daughters are still alive? He only needs one. Do you think they are hurt?” Jericho asked, pained.

Lorenz wanted to be truthful. Leonie said one of the girls was hurt in the skirmish. 

“They are far to valuable for Morley to allow them to come to harm, of that I am sure.” The lie gave Lorenz confidence. “What matters now is conducting you to a safer location.”

“Does it? He already has them.”

“It does.” Lorenz began to lose his patience. “And you are selfish to believe that does not matter— it matters to your daughters!”

He had much more to say, but was distracted by voice in the hall: a cheerful “Tea for you, Miss Mercenary!” directed to Leonie carried through the door, before a soft knock issued from it’s panels.

"Mr. Jericho? Tea is ready." The voice was friendly, familiar.

"You may enter." 

Alvina entered the room, carefully balancing the tea tray on one steady hand.

"Alvina? I thought you were sent to spy on Morley?" Lorenz asked. The visit to Jericho’s house was becoming more unsettling by the moment.

"I gained enough of Morley's confidence that he sent me to spy on Master Jericho. I could not properly refuse. I'm supposed to 'kill him if he moves too rashly;' instead, now I'm serving as extra guard and delivering small mis-truths to Morley himself."

"Clever... I heard nothing of this from Claude or Lalia." Lorenz was discomforted. Her breezy attitude did not match the mood of the room, like a crude joke at a funeral.

"I informed Lord Claude— perhaps it slipped his mind? I heard through the Many Mouths that there was an attack." She handed Lorenz a cup, already poured. There was a thump somewhere in the Hall.

_I did not know that the attack was known along spy information routes. It seems wrong somehow, but it has been a tumultuous few days— a letter might have gotten lost or come late... No, I am not convinced. But I have run out of time for tea or investigation._ Lorenz kept his thoughts to himself, preparing to leave: more for discomfort than time sake.

"Miss Alvina has been here for two days now." Jericho stated blankly. She handed him a full cup from the tray.

_The cups are already poured? Why would she pour the tea before bringing it? It would cool too quickly from the draft of carrying it down the hall—_ Lorenz reached across the table, knocking the cup from Jericho's lips, dumping his own untouched cup in the act. 

"Wha- Ouch!" Jericho shouted, reacting prematurely to the expectation of hot tea. But it was cool as Lorenz anticipated.

"Oh my, Master Jericho!" Alvina attended him with a hand towel from her apron. "Are you burned?"

“No- actually it’s fine.”

_Lalia mentioned she was hiding something- but this is one of Claude's closer maids! He does not trust haphazardly. What am I doing?_ He remembered at last why her presence unsettled him: Claude’s words in the morning: “_Her handwriting was off… which is not abnormal, she probably wrote it in a hurry._”

_Alvina could not have been here for two days to investigate Morely, someone is lying—_

"S-sorry. Claude's tendencies have put a strain on my judgment-" He reached across the desk in front of them to help, as a ploy to reach for Thyrsus.

The tea towel at Jericho’s collar blossomed red only seconds before a twisted dagger pinned Lorenz's outstretched wrist to the desk: Alvina had hidden a small knife in the towel to slit Jericho's throat. She moved quickly, grabbing Lorenz's free hand before he could cast any defense, pinching a nerve to make it limp.

"This was supposed to be nice and peaceful, My Lord; now you have made the man suffer. I picked a nicer poison— like going to sleep. You I was just going to put out for an hour or two. Pity."  
She was stronger than her thin arms could possibly elucidate— too strong to be natural. Lorenz struggled against the table: he could not pull his arm free of the knife, and she kept his other arm twisted around his back.

"Leonie!" He cried in panic— but realized the thump against the wall may have been her death knell.

"Ah, she is resting just now." Alvina answered sweetly as she twirled another knife around her fingertips. She took Thyrsus from the holster on his back, flinging it away as a precaution. "But don't you worry— once Claude realizes you’re missing from the Council Hall, you’ll be found before your body gets cold." A giggle followed her cheerful threat. “Not s’posed to kill you, but you messed up, not me. Too bad.”

"Morven! Gyaah!" _I have the pocket tome- if I can warp- I do not know how- but if I can just get to Morven outside._ "MORVEN!!!" Lorenz clenched his fist against the table, pulling up hard against the knife's broad hilt again, hoping to force it free: it only made him sick with agony, blood spurting from the wound. His vision blurred at the sight.

Alvina sat on him where he was doubled over, running the knife edge across his back and through his hair, humming.

No spells came to him; without direction, he could only set the room on fire indiscriminately, and he preferred not to burn alive. As Alvina pressed the knife against his throat, he briefly made peace with his spectacular failure before chancing the warp— better to be ripped in half by magic than drained like an animal.

He closed his eyes. The small tome with a few spells scribbled in earnest boredom was never really meant to be used: it was an experiment. A toy. It was not possible that it even held enough power to do more than magic tricks, and tomes needed to be opened and read to work.

Envisioning it would need to do. He concentrated on the book, and it felt as though it was burning through his pocket just as real as the knife about to push into his throat. There was a flurry of light and static electricity buzzed around him. It was much like riding a wyvern for the first time: he was whip-lashed about, and could neither open his eyes or control his direction. He only willed himself somewhere safe.

Wherever he fell, he hit his head— hard— then nothing.  
  
* * *

The afternoon recess was longer than usual, the votes being the only order of business left. The full two hours generally allotted plus one more, the city was was not as frantic as usual: people vying for quick street food and traversing the city for clandestine business that needed attending in the usually cramped time. Gloucester and Goneril returned to their Halls while Edmund waited in his own office and Lysithea meandered the city with her rag-tag guards from the church. 

When Claude returned to the Duke’s ready room, Lorenz was not there as he had hoped. The three hours passed with only alight lunch; he considered going out to look himself for Lorenz, but surely he would miss him arriving as soon as he left. Even as the last minutes ticked away, he waited longer than he should have before accepting that Lorenz may not have been able to slip by without some commotion. _I guess I don’t need anything else from him, really. I’m just nervous._ He waited a bit longer, wanting for more hands-on comfort. It was reckless, but it was the distraction he needed.

As he prepared to leave, one of his maids slipped through the door.

“My Lord, Lord Lorenz, Miss Leonie and Morven have not returned. You told me to inform you when I found them, but I have asked around— no one has.”

“No one has seen them in the city?”

“Not since the late morning, no.”

Claude’s mind froze for a moment. He had to weigh his urge to search against the affairs of the Alliance— the vote was paramount. He had to choose— but he had no _real_ choice: others could search for Lorenz, no one else could serve in the Duke’s place.

“Check the Galleries again— all the Galleries in case he got dragged along by some kiss-ass minor Lord. Send someone to the Anderton House, check Riegan Hall and Gloucester Hall if you have to. Before you do any of that, send a Cardinal Falcon to the Estate— inform Lalia, and—” He grabbed a sheet of paper, signing it across the bottom “— write a letter on this, permitting her to be released from the estate for the search. What about Hilda— has Hilda been seen?”

“Yes My Lord, she is in the lobby, returning to the auditorium.”

“Put someone on her. Watch her. Lysithea and Marianne?”

“Both accounted for, already in the auditorium.” She answered.

“You are late My Lord, they are waiting for you at the table.” Galen reminded him.

“Right. Come to the table, tell me as soon as he has been found.” The maid nodded and fell back, he emerged into the hallway at a sprint.

His entire body revolted, wanting to walk in the opposite direction, out and into the hostile city where Lorenz was missing.

Instead Claude willed himself into the hall, preparing the sit still and labor through the entire list of minor, major, and great Lords, and tally their votes for the next two hours at minimum. 

* * *

Morven grew impatient, being left with the horses when Leonie could have done just as well, or a paid street child. _Easy target thieves could be deterred by a rough looking pigeon_ he mused. Unless the clock tower was wrong, Lorenz would be late: he was hoping to at least make it to the afternoon Roundtable to watch the votes counted.

Just as he was soon to barge into the house, Morven’s skin tingled. There was a sound, loud— all at once like a gust of wind— before it vanished.

It came from inside.

He unholstered his axe, running in without reserve. The guards were accounted for: all dead, blood everywhere as though they had simply popped inside their armor. There was no sound, but a creak from the floor above.

"Aww! I'm gonna be in trouble!" A voice carried from the upper level— there were familiar tones in it, sweet, but gone rancid.

When he ascended the stairs slowly, he found Leonie collapsed on the hall carpet: down, but still breathing. Morven crossed himself over to conceal himself to sight.

"I can feel that, mage." The foul woman chimed through the closed door. "Who's out there, I wonder?"

He waited for her to emerge.

"Hellooo? It's rude not to answer a lady. Well you aren't the maid— I would smell you."

_If she can smell Lalia, she isn’t human. I should proceed with caution but... where is Lorenz?_

As though hearing his thoughts clearly, she answered in a taunt.

"Your little Lord vanished! Probably dead! I stabbed him pretty good!" She bragged. “But I have to go now— gotta make sure the job’s finished!”  
Morven had little restraint against the most petty of taunts: fortunately he had the intemperate strength to afford it.

When he burst into the room, she was already gone: using the same teleportation spell he felt earlier. Lorenz was nowhere to be found, it was true: only Jericho was slumped in his chair, covered in blood, but there was another telltale smear around a hole in the desk— blood that could not belong to the Vaultier.

“NO!” He moved to leave, but a glow caught his eye: Thyrsus lay in the floor, handle shattered. He wanted to be amused that an assassin was so sloppy, yet it did nothing to abate his rage. He grabbed it up to take with him— 

Then threw it away. Whatever magic, whatever it was that was inside the staff was _angry_. Picking it up conjured the very real sensation of being bitten and torn after. Irritated that he would need to delay his search, he found something to wrap it in before carrying it out of the House.

Morven left the hall in a fury, taking up a horse to find one of the Riegan Guards who patrolled the city, before scouring the city himself. 


	68. Familiar Discomfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting so patiently! This past month has been hard on everyone :(
> 
> Most of these chapters are the same, so I was able to do them all at once. The next two chapters are pretty similar to the original, so they should be out soon, but after that I have to do major rewriting again. But! The end is in sight :) Thank you for reading!

The pillows were soft, the smell familiar and safe. Like home. Lorenz's head was hurting, again, more than it ever had: but this time he could not remember fainting or the sight of blood, unlike the many other times he arrived in bed against his will. Someone entered the room. He waited for Claude or Lalia, maybe Hilda to touch him so he could find his way in the paralyzing dark. He never could fully wake from such pained sleep until he was oriented by touch, sound, or most pleasantly, song.

The voice that met him was filled with the wrong sort of affection: possessive and disapproving.

"They told me there was an intruder. I did not believe them when they said it was you." Lorenz could feel the Count looming over him, his voice giving form to the overbearing presence. His eyes snapped open in panic.

"...Father?!"

"You have been stabbed. Who?"

Lorenz sprung from the bed,_ his_ bed in Gloucester Hall. He reached up and found his head had been bandaged, and his arm._ Stabbed_?

"Where is Thyrsus?!" Lorenz demanded, noting the warmth and weight of the staff was absent.

"The only thing you have to say to me after months apart?" The Count scolded. Lorenz only looked at him with incredulity at his indifference that the divine relic was missing. "Thyrsus did not arrive with you."

"Arrive? How did I get here?! Release me!" Lorenz recoiled from his father where he stood at his bedside.

"You came here of your own accord. Landed slightly to the right of your bed, obliterating your nightstand." Lorenz looked around. The night stand was shattered— blood everywhere: splattered onto the walls, long streaks painting the carpet, mopped up carelessly from the wood where it still colored it in streaks. Too much too have come from the inconsequential wound on his wrist.

To know the blood was his made him ill. The pain he felt was a now consolation, a minor burden for being alive after such an injury.

“... Wait. Explain again. How is it that I 'Arrived'?"

"Magic, it would seem. No one was in the room." His father answered icily, tired of playing the answer game.

Lorenz felt for his trouser pocket: it was burned through, the toy tome no more. Only a ghost of text along his thigh where the magic imprinted into his skin from the improper binding of the book: too much power for plain paper.

He moved his hand reflexively to his coat pocket where the Deer Key remained safe.

"I want to leave at once." Lorenz insisted._ I warped, but why? It seems I tried to go somewhere safe, and came here. Foolish nostalgia._

“You split your head nearly in half. You will stay, and you will rest." It felt like a punishment more than an invitation to recover. True to his father’s insistent authority. "You may return to your rebellious walkabout tomorrow. I will even deliver you to House Riegan myself."

“No.” Lorenz struggled to rise from the bed against the pounding of his freshly healed skull. The Count put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“Who attacked you?” He asked again.

“I… I do not remember.” There was nothing for Lorenz to recall beyond flashes of the morning about the city, and Claude in the ready room.

“I will accept that answer for now, in consideration of your head trauma. It is no matter, I will find them.” Calm and sinister was his father’s trademark when he had been slighted. His passionate arrogance and faux amiability was reserved for pandering just enough to catch opponents off guard. “Now, we must speak of the misunderstanding that lead to your hasty departure.”

“You need to return to the Roundtable—”

“The Roundtable will wait.” He made no move to soften his demeanor, or offer comfort for Lorenz’s traumatic afternoon. He was only concerned with making excuses. “Do you truly believe I was trying to kill you? My own son?”

Lorenz did not know what to believe. It seemed somehow absurd now— or was he too desperate to trust his father again? Was it the damage done to his head?_ It would be so much easier to believe him._

“It was just a precaution, I thought the Empire—”

“Our business partners from the Empire have no real power here. You may have been used for bait to lure out any would-be assassins, and I may have said some rash things to achieve that goal. Statements your maid took out of context: also my intention. Those who would see you eliminated have been taken care of, and you may return home at any time. Lalia however must stand trial. She served her purpose this last time, but has made a fine mess of my plans, needlessly murdering over 43 men in one night. With poison, no less: a cowards weapon. She is in my way."

The situation was too much to comprehend: Lorenz had no memory of the last hours, and here he was, forced to navigate a lecture from his father, from his bed. The head wound alone should excuse him from scolding and politics for the day, he would think, but life was becoming more and more unforgiving to Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. He lay back, suddenly dizzy, foul memories trying to press through the mundane conversation his father was carrying on with.

“You must understand Lorenz, you are my legacy— not even Seiros or Sothis could rob me of that. Some girl emperor from a shattered nation is hardly a concern.” His voice did not speak of fear _or_ respect, but it wasn't neutral.

“Hardly a concern... or hardly an enemy?" Lorenz challenged him. It was so obvious he did not need a clear head to realize it. "She’s going to give you the title of Duke. As she has done in the Faerghus Dukedom.” He concluded.

The Count's mouth twitched only slightly, but it was his most blatant tell.

“Perhaps. And what does it matter? Under Duke Riegan or Emperor Hresvelg, it makes no difference. I care not for flags. This path will lead to less enmity in the long run: if Fodlan unites now, we will not in-fight again in our lifetime.”

Lorenz searched for a response. By his own voice, he would condemn his father a fool, denounce him, and flee. He held his tongue, trying to recall Claude's plans for him.

“… I see some of the design in your words. It is only… The Leicester Alliance has always been my home. To see it fall…” He tried to lean on his affinity for the Alliance, painting his earlier revolt against his father's house as sentimentality, nothing more; agreeing wholly would be too obvious, but romantic notions of right and wrong, heroism and the like were well known to be Lorenz's trademark. He could fool his father by playing the caricature others had made of him.

“Gloucester is your home, and Gloucester will remain. The Alliance is just a name for the counties and cities within it's arbitrary borders: all of which will maintain their distinction. Surrender will simply settle this war with less deaths: more of the 'home' you so cherish remaining intact. What is a name change?”

His argument was well reasoned, and that made it dangerous— it was perfectly sensible to those who knew no better, or those willing to forget the Empire's crimes. Lorenz was not fool enough to believe that the Empire would be so docile after swallowing up two other nations: _it will only expand it’s stomach, hungry again— and when? In time for my own children to fight in a war, or my grandchildren? Will Sreng or Almyra need to be reformed?_ The Count's excuses were witless, temporary conclusions. Lorenz was disgusted, but could not show it.

“As long as I can go home… As long as the Gloucester name and our home remains in tact, it would still be the same...” He held his hand to his head, which pounded. “I have been so ignorant, reckless.”

“Do not subject yourself to such unfounded judgment: you acted in your best interest. Self preservation is never deplorable; it is human nature.”

“Eugh.” Lorenz passed his audible disgust off as pain.

They were interrupted by a snap, like a crack of lightning too quick to see.

“Oh! Found you, young Lord!” It was a woman, concealed from head to toe, spinning two twisted sai as though performing street tricks. "Let's try again!"

“GUARDS!” Count Gloucester shouted for aid, unarmed as they were; they each drew their hands up for what magic could be managed without a nearby tome.

Lorenz moved too quickly in the wake of his injuries, and his vision blurred: the woman seemed to divide into two or three as he tried to rise and fight bare fist. His father likewise appeared to be in once place, then another. All he could tell that his father was between himself and the woman, then he was not, then he was again. There was a flash of light: who it issued from or its function was not clear between the myriad illusions.

Lorenz hoped his father was fighting earnestly, perhaps even defending him: he could not help but believe in the man that at least cherished him as a legacy would have some parental instinct in reserve. There were guards now, adding to the chaos of bodies that wavered across Lorenz's vision. The woman moved too fast; signing some rune in the air that turned the guards all red, all but one dropping in their armor.

She slipped around them, lunging-

The sai plunged into Lorenz's shoulder, and back out again-

Lorenz felt the hum and buzz of teleportation magic-

But not before her strike lodged between two of his ribs.  
  
* * *

Before he thought Lorenz’s absence was an oversight, but now Claude was disturbed.

There was an empty chair at the table.

“Where is Count Gloucester?” Claude asked when he pulled out his chair: he lost his formality, but managed keep his voice even enough that it sounded like a common question instead of a panic.

“It seems he has not returned. Most unlike him.” Edmund commented. “I suggest a five minute delay.”

There was nothing to do but to wait; Claude was unaware of the procedure for an absent Lord; defying Edmund would reveal his distress and paint him as immature.

“Agreed.” Claude sat down. Lysithea eyed him sideways; there was no easy way for them to communicate with so many people watching. His leg bounced uncontrollably under the table as the delay dragged on. Lysithea noticed, catching on that something else was wrong. Looking around, she saw Lorenz was also absent. She turned back to Claude with eyes wide, but there was nothing they could do about it for three more minutes.

Muted conversation poured from the gallery as the observers waited. The remaining seconds crawled.

“Lord Claude, five minutes have passed." Edmund announced. He noe shared Claude’s unease. "We cannot vote without him, obviously. The Roundtable can wait longer, or adjourn: the vote will carry over into Saturday in the instance that any issues are left unresolved— “

Just then, a servant of Edmund’s emerged from the Lord's Hall at a run. He bounded up to the Margrave, whispering in his ear. Edmund’s eyes widened; he stood abruptly from this seat and rounded the table to Claude.

“Adjourn the meeting. The Count has been attacked. You may suspend the proceedings on suspicion of foul play.” Lord Edmund returned to his seat, barely sitting as he readied to spring from it when dismissed. It took Claude a moment to react, but he managed to stand at last.

“This meeting is adjourned, due to suspicious activity that bears investigating before we can continue. We will hold a Saturday session unless an announcement is made otherwise. Dismissed.” Each Lord rose quickly, Goneril upending his chair. They proceeded solemnly to the Lord's hall; when the door shut behind them, Goneril erupted.

“Suspected foul play!? Suspect the Count excused himself as a show of defiance—”

“Wait!” Claude demanded. “Let Edmund speak.” He felt much smaller standing among the Great Lords instead of sitting in the Big Chair, where each of them were kept at a distance. Even Lysithea’s presence was domineering now that she held the title of Countess.

“Unfortunately my friend this is no petty scheme. Count Gloucester is injured— attacked after an assassin teleported into Gloucester Hall.” He looked pointedly at Claude. “… Lorenz is also rumored to be injured, but no one knows where he is.”

“Lorenz?! Was he at Gloucester Hall?” Lysithea was furious. “Why would he be there?”

“… Yes, it seems he was there with his father.” Edmund answered in confusion. He knew little of the rumors of their fallout.

“Dammit!” Claude lost his veneer of indifference, startling Edmund and Goneril. “Lysithea, help me search for Lorenz. I expect you two can console the Count.” Claude was already walking from the hall.

“_I_ can, thank you.” Edmund volunteered. He turned to his servant. “Secure Marianne and Alphonse. We must assume other Great Lords and their families are at risk.”

Lord Goneril did not volunteer to meet with the Count. Instead he added to their search.

“I will send some of my own men out to look for the Gloucester boy— We will cover the south end of the city. He’s terribly frail; Hilda might be worried to know he’s hurt.” He turned and left before Claude could be surprised at his concern.

“Let’s go, Lysithea.”

“Right.” She hurried behind him, running to keep up. “I’m not very good at it… but if I can cast out with a Warp spell, I might be able to locate him.”

“You can really do that?”

“Well… I can warp someone I can see fine. Without being able to see Lorenz, I would have to ‘feel’ for him— and I’m not sure I can distinguish him. It’s faith magic, and we aren’t close at all.”

“It’s all we have.”

“Claude— I know you want to go look for him personally, but you should return to Riegan Hall.”

“… I get it, but I can’t.”

“You can and you will!” She commanded “There has been an attack on a major Lord and his heir— _you_ need to fortify, and to wait for any information. No one can tell you when Lorenz has been found if you can’t be found!” She inhaled to start in with another argument if he protested. Claude raised his hand.

“… You’re right.” He turned to Galen. “Go with Lysithea.”

“I should stay with you, Your Grace.”

“I have Devar, and the rest of the general guard. I’m returning straight to Riegan Hall, and I’ll send Devar out after you.”

“Very well.”


	69. Frantic

"I have you Lorenz—" A strange man's voice echoed dully; perhaps they were in an alleyway, but Lorenz could only see the dirty ground in front of him pooling with blood. The man began to curse at the sight of the knife.

"Riegan Esta…" Lorenz struggled to tell him where to go, placing undue trust in the stranger according to a panicked sort of logic: he was no use to any kidnapper dead. His own survival was out of his hands now. Lalia’s affinity for him, paired with her mastery of White Magic, was his only hope.

"I cannot warp that far!" The man answered, frantic, holding Lorenz up by his shoulder’s when his legs gave in. He placed his hand over Lorenz’s where it held the knife in.

Despite his claim to inability, the magic washed over Lorenz for a third time.

The world folded in on itself, hopefully enough to cross eight miles or more.

* * *

Lalia was ‘released;’ not that she had earnestly been kept under lock and key. She kept her hair wrapped in black scarves, tucked again into a hood, her face behind a mask. It was fortunate Claude had the foresight to send for her— and that the falcon master brought the message to Lalia instead of deferring to the former Duke. He was spiteful in his hold age, and might have kept the letter and let Lorenz remain missing, eliminating a rival.

_I will start at House Gloucester, that stupid man has probably been caught by his father. I may not be able to uphold my promise not to injure the Count— But if he’s not there… I must sniff him out._

A stranger warped onto the front walk, nearer the gate, just before Lalia turned the path for the Wyviary. He had Lorenz in arm, the two of them holding tight to a knife lodged in his chest. He collapsed without word or sound, twisting to keep Lorenz belly up as he fell.

Lalia drew her sword instinctively and made for the man at a run: even from such a distance, his every feature marked him kin of Lord Adalius's disturbing family. On closer approach, she could see he was no threat so near death. His hand over Lorenz’s, it seemed he was helping hold the knife in to staunch the blood.

It was not working.

Throwing her sword away, she pulled their hands apart to find blood spilling out through flutes formed by the blades: three blades, fashioned in a corkscrew if she assumed the worst, but it could not be seen as far as it had been lodged. It was a cruel weapon, meant to ensure it’s victim’s death.

"HEALERS!" She called to the surrounding guard frantically "White mages! All of them!" One guard took toward the infirmary, several others set out in every direction to search the estate for the rest. "Lorenz!"

He was already bandaged about the head and wrist— why, she couldn't guess, only hope his other wounds had not put undue pressure on his body. The knife that was lodged between his two lower ribs would require all she could muster, and more. If the blade was twisted, pulling it out would repeat the damage it made when it went in. It had to be quick, but she must wait for assistance.

She pulled Lorenz flat to the ground, away from the man, while blood pooled and bubbled in the wound. White Mages poured from the infirmary. She shouted instructions as they came closer, shock drawing over their faces. They carefully cut open his soiled shirt to get at the wound. Corliss, the Head Healer, simply shook her head.

“Miss Lalia, there’s nothing we can do for this sort of injury.”

“There is and you will!” Lalia grabbed the woman and snarled. “You can die trying or die abandoning your duty, do what you must!” It went unsaid that refusing to expend their energy would not save them from her wrath.

Before Corliss could respond, one healer failed to heed Lalia's threat; a young man, seeing the blood in full, took off running. He struggled to flee from the sight... only to faint twenty feet away.

“I hope your other mages are stronger of stomach; no one else will be spared for weakness! Now!” She growled, throwing Corliss to the ground. "You will start when I command!"

“M-ma’am, miss uh. Something is wrong. There is something here.” A terrified assistant mentioned; despite Lalia’s threats, it was not the fear of death that made her shake. Something terrifying and imposing bore down on them all. Not quite magic, but present.

Lalia tried to tear her focus away from the life draining quickly from Lorenz, dividing her attention. There was a familiar heat and a rage coming from the Benettos on the ground.

“Check him, check his body!” Lalia pointed to the man. There was a large cloth-wrapped parcel tucked into his vest. The healer who searched him dropped it as soon as she pulled it free, crying out in pain.

The wrapping fell loose.

It was the headpiece of Thyrsus.

“Yes, hand it to me!” _Now there is hope._

If it was a trap, or cursed, Lalia could not care; all the effort she was willing to expend, the many mages she was willing to drain of life for the impossible effort of saving Lorenz would have been worthless…with Thyrsus they might actually have the necessary power to succeed.

Lalia seized it. The violent magic in the staff head gnawed at her fingers, at first— but the relic was familiar with her. As she held it aloft over Lorenz, it soothed and focused.

The healers and doctors were all in place.

“Now.” she commanded.

The light that burst from Thyrsus was blinding: for a moment the healers recoiled from it. When they adjusted, two set to work, the others waiting to take over when necessary. After pulling the knife, Lorenz’s breathing became deep and even. A calm breeze swirled around Lalia, her hands and eyes and Thyrsus all scorching white light.

Three of the mages pooled energy, taking it from the guards up until they fainted. Palms on Lalia’s arms, in turns they were feeding the energy necessary for her to continue using Thyrsus. That anyone could utilize a divine weapon for such a length of time without dying was it’s own miracle. Her sleeves now burned away, consumed by the white light that took her hands.

Lalia hummed quietly, barely audible as the healers argued with one other: what was possible, the best method of mending, how to rejoin shredded tissue, when magic could be used or when surgical precision was needed. Mostly they discouraged one another, repeating in hushed tones that such a wound had never been sealed with any success: None here had even seen such a wound, only Corliss was versed in descriptions of the terrible butchery a tri-blade weapon could make. If the blood loss did not kill him, infection would.

An hour passed this way.

A note had been sent by cardinal-falcon into Derdriu: Claude and the Great Lords would know now, as the city would know soon by rumor.

The healers froze when Lalia flagged for a moment, only a moment, arms threatening to drop Thyrsus onto their heads. Her determination was unmatched, but everyone had limits. After another half hour, there was nothing else to be done. The mess they had made already was poor compensation for their effort.

"We've finished." Corliss announced, her voice wavering: she meant to say they had done all they could, which amounted to very little... but Lalia was a terror to behold. No one would tell her again that such wounds were largely inoperable.

"Move." Lalia said slowly. They scrambled back at her demand, glad to be clear of her.

With a final burst of light, the wound sealed itself: broad and ugly, but closed against exposure. Lalia collapsed onto Lorenz. Two healers took her up, minding her burned arms, fused together at the staff head. Corliss checked Lorenz for breathing, all the while planning to flee the estate if he was dead.

His chest rose, difficult and shallow, but for now death did not loom over him. 


	70. Lalia of Almyra

As soon as Claude cleared the overcast that had set in, mounted on King without saddle, he could see it: a bright point of light issuing from Riegan Estate miles in the distance. He imagined it was Lalia, burning through her own life and maybe even other white mages to try and keep Lorenz alive: he had no delusions about her willingness to sacrifice. He could not judge or fault her, unsure of who he would waste to save Lorenz if the power to do so was in his own hands. Claude hoped she was more sure and ruthless than he was, as guilty as it made him feel. 

The light flashed and diminished while he was still ten minutes out.

_Is it over? Did he make it?_

There was no way to know, and no way to go faster. As hard as he drove King, the wyvern began to turn and snap at him, once falling a short distance to make his point. He threatened to land, and he threatened to throw Claude off entirely. Any more urging would only slow them.

At last Claude crashed onto the walk.

There were several scenes to take in: the bodies of guards and white mages strewn across the bricks; the crowd of servants who had gathered for the spectacle; how they drew away as the guards who remained standing took up with the limp body of a strange, red-headed man. 

King’s landing shook them all free of their fixation on the aftermath.

“Where is he? What happened?!” Claude demanded from his back. He hopped down, leaving the wyvern to his tantrum: his only concern was the pool of blood absent a body.

“The infirmary, My Lord, come!” A butler stepped from the edge of the crowd to lead him.

The short walk to the infirmary seemed farther than the ride from Derdriu. The butler claimed Lorenz was in the infirmary, but it was no precise answer: the morgue was inside the infirmary.

The beds were filling with the drained guards and mages, the stranger among them. At the end a bed was partitioned off; the only one he could not see.

“Back here, My Lord.” He led Claude to it perfunctorily. The head healer, Corliss, near depleted herself, slumped in a chair.

“He has not moved my Lord, but he breaths.” She moved to let him into the chair, but he declined.

It was an experience Claude had gratefully forgotten, visiting a friend wounded and unconscious. When they fought in the Academy, in skirmishes faced together, at least camaraderie and victory would console them. Even the rules of battle were clear, the weapons civil. Most unconscious people were only resting from battle, and could be woken. This was a lonely victory: Lorenz was still alive, barely, having been attacked by a coward with a vicious weapon during his leisure. No armor, no warning, and no one at his back.

He watched for another moment, to confirm he was breathing. A slow rise of his chest was followed by a slow fall, but too shallow and too far apart to be consolation. 

“… The note only said he was injured and dying. What happened?”

“I only know that he arrived already wounded about the head and wrist, transported with a suspicious man. There was a knife wound in his shoulder, and the knife in question was still lodged between two lower ribs, grazing his lung.” She motioned to the vicious sai that set on a nearby table, yet uncleaned. “Lalia healed him at great cost to herself, with the divine relic.” She alluded to Thyrsus, but it was nowhere in sight.

“… Great cost? How great?” He was reluctant to draw away from Lorenz, but he owed Lalia her due respect. She was not in any of the beds for recovery. “Where is Thyrsus?”

“I hesitate to explain without showing. Please follow me.”

Corliss lead him now to the morgue.

It’s entry was hidden in a corner, a low and ancient stone arch. It was one of the first structures erected on the grounds, an embalming room leading into the crypts that the infirmary was built around much later. The room was a level dropped down, cool and quiet as it rested half underground. 

Today, however, it was too hot.

“She is not breathing. But her body will not go cold. It has only grown warmer.” Corliss pulled back a make-shift curtain concealing a stone platform carved in the wall. Lalia had been layed out properly, arms and eyes pink-red from burning, her fingers still clutching Thyrsus. “No one here has seen anything like it. She… it, the body will not release the divine relic. I am reluctant to prepare the body for burial; another healer is preparing bandages for the arms now, in case she is alive. And look.”

She ran a finger under Lalia’s ear, drawing attention to an unnatural point.

“Have you ever seen such a deformity?”

“Maybe in stories.” He recalled such creatures being popular in children’s tales from Almyra. “Keep her here until I speak with the Duke— uh, Oswald. He should know more.”

He backed out of the room, too overwhelmed to consider Lalia’s condition further. He returned to Lorenz…

…Who remained unchanged. 

Claude looked over and through him while he considered what to say to his grandfather, what to ask, who to contact, when the Count would come, become a problem, had the Count been informed? Did he have to let him visit Lorenz? What if _he_ stabbed him— where were Leonie and Morven? He would need to call Alvina back with so many people compromised; they needed to pool their allies— the red headed man, the Benettos, was he an ally? If he was, Claude couldn’t abide it— There was still another day at the Roundtable and a seat for election—

A guard interrupted the hasty planning that was quickly growing into fury.

“My Lord, we have apprehended the man who brought Lorenz to the estate. He is conscious, but only intermittent and senseless; we will be taking him to the holding cells when you are ready to speak with him.”

“Right.” Claude lingered over Lorenz’s bedside. He turned to Corliss, who accompanied the guard. “Have Lorenz ready to move when I return.”

“Moved? It would be best for our healers to maintain a constant watch of him. We can post guard—”

“We haven’t found the person who did this. The healers can be posted to my suite as well, but the infirmary is too open. Select your people and prepare a stretcher.”

“We should not move him.” She argued. “Your suite is not sanitized—”

“_Corliss_.”

“_No_.” Corliss declined indignantly. “I understand this is difficult for you, but it is not appropriate.”

“Goddess— You—” Claude pointed, but stammered like an idiot. She was at least half right. “—We’ll discuss this when I get back. For now… here’s my key. Sanitize away.”

He left Corliss balking at the heavy key in her hands that no one was allowed to touch.

  
* * *

  
Claude entered the expansive master suite to a chorus of low groans, cut through with the occasional cough. The room was grand enough that he could not yet see his grandfather, concealed as he was in an inner room separate from the suite foyer, hidden moreover by curtains draped across an arch. He struggled to compose himself, taking several deep breaths while trying to remember what he meant to say.

“Do not hover Claude, I already know. Come in.”

Claude passed through the archway. Oswald had recovered somewhat since the morning: despite Morven’s claim that he had to suffer through the symptoms on his own because the magic itself was beginning to weaken him, a white mage hovered near him. Claude wondered if he had any alternative: a missing heir was no small matter, his grandfather could not spare time to rest now. There would be letters and visitors. _Although, I guess this is all my responsibility now. I’m Duke, though, that doesn’t necessarily make me head of House._

“Who told you?” 

“A guard informed me that Lorenz arrived with a strange guest, stabbed, both unconscious, and that Lalia gave her life to save him. I assume we both must wait if we hope for more information to surface. And the Count is on his way.”

“Wish he would stay in Derdriu.” Claude said morosely, too drained of energy to feign sympathy with the Count. Oswald laughed. Claude did not know where to stand or where to look. “…There’s something wrong with Lalia’s body.”

“Ah, I suppose Corliss had a great many questions. I do wish she would have brought this matter to me first… But it seems the power balance in the Estate is shifting naturally to you since my illness has become common knowledge among the staff.”

“You know what’s wrong with her?”

“It’s… difficult to describe. Unbelievable actually; you might find a bed time story to sound more plausible.”

“Since we’re laying out secrets, I want to know first why you sent her to House Gloucester. She told me she was sent when Lorenz was little, before you knew about me. To… watch him, or something.”

“Hmhm. She did tell you against my wishes? I see. That does make you the House head. I’m a little incensed. Is that all she told you?”

“That’s all. Don’t be vague. I don’t want any more suspense for the day.” _What does she have to do with my position?_

Oswald took a deep, rattling breath, and a long drink of water so he might continue uninterrupted.

“Lalia is a different sort of creature. She has been with House Riegan since the beginning. She was retainer to our forebear, the first Duke of Riegan when he was with the Blaiddyd Royal Guard.” 

That gave Claude pause. He thought the day could not grow more intense. He picked his words carefully, as if they mattered. 

“… I don’t understand. You’re saying… Lalia has been meddling in Alliance affairs for a thousand years? She’s been _alive_? All that…”

“Not meddling. Advising. Assisting. At times she has left for a decade or more, only to return at a crucial point. When she is mortally injured, she sleeps. Why or how she developed such an affinity for Lorenz is beyond my scope: and lucky for you. If she did not stay my hand, I would have stunted this _affair_ you’ve so foolishly fallen into; I would gladly have let him die on our front approach. You have been spared the disdain I hold for House Gloucester.”

“… You did send her there to kill him.”

“I did. Perhaps she told you that white lie to soften your opinion of both herself and your own grandfather, but we were of the same mind when I asked her to go. Or perhaps she entertained my plans with designs of her own. For me, it was part of the long game, certainly not the first strike in a series of assassinations stretching back centuries. It was only my intent to kill him when he came of age: the unrest in both the Kingdom and the Empire, born from weak rule and divided loyalties, would not be repeated here, I decided. I had every plan to end House Gloucester, to replace it with a less self-serving and arrogant family. It would end with Lorenz.” 

Oswald let out a severe cough. Claude suddenly felt cold; where moments ago his grandfather’s wretched and painful cough made Claude’s gut wrench in discomfort, now there was no sympathy left in him. His grandfather's severity was so very Riegan, and Claude saw clearly his mother in Oswald's vengeful murdering intent.

Oswald continued after a light touch from the healer about his chest.

“…Then, hurgh… Godfrey was killed in 1169; Lorenz would have been… eight? I ordered her to kill Lorenz in recompense. She declined, and would not return to House Riegan. Typically I would have such a maid hunted down, but Lalia is not just a maid… If I was required to give her a title, it would be a sort of patron saint of Riegan. Though her interest in our House has dwindled, and that era seems to have passed. I let her be.”

Claude sat down slowly, his head spinning. 

“This is too much. Too much has happened in too few days, and now you want me to believe Lalia is some- some divine thing?!”

“Does she not bear a resemblance to another divine you know?”

Claude's ears prickled, as they did when a suspicion were being confirmed, secrets told. The green eyes and green hair were obvious, but he considered now her entire demeanor; how she skipped titles when she felt like it, behaving so casually with the former Duke. She played the part of maid well, but her presence was unyielding. Her ears always covered; he never cared to notice, but now he recalled Rhea and Seteth did the same.

"… Is she part of the church?"

"Not at all. Many details of the arrangement were lost or destroyed, and she does not elaborate when asked, believing that the past should stay in the past. We know she is Almyran. Her kind are called ‘manakete,’ only they are not elevated to sainthood where she comes from. They are highly secretive, scattered across the land living in solitude. She claims to have some faint degree of clairvoyance."

“Manakete… manakete… I’ve heard that somewhere before.” Claude's mind raced with the implications, what this intimated about Rhea, Seteth, and Flayn. _Byleth. And the clairvoyance explains why she gets that look… like when she demanded we couldn’t fail. It.. Reminded me of Teach sometimes._

"She does not answer questions, nor does she make demands; she says the people of Fodlan are to guide themselves, insisting her goals are personal. That is the extent of my knowledge." He leaned back in his chair, weary. “We’ll place her body in the temple beneath the Estate. I will accompany you in a few days time, when all of this mess has been resolved.”

“There’s a _temple_ under the estate? When were you going to tell me all of this?”

“After you became Duke. Here we are.”


	71. Rest

By the evening, all the Great Lords were gathered in the Duke’s personal Council room at Riegan Estate, save the Count, who came swiftly in the afternoon and left just as swiftly after being denied, repeatedly by several healers and doctors, Claude, and finally Oswald to move Lorenz all the way to Gloucester to the detriment to his Recovery. They were repeating the assault briefing of a few days earlier— only Claude now headed the table while his Grandfather stayed to his right; stifling the cough everyone well knew would never cease again.

Absent were Lorenz, Lalia, and Morven: Leonie had been found unconscious and now set weakly at the end of the table with Ignatz and Rpahael. Claude called on them to attend as Lorenz had suggested, with designs to knight them. Alvina was not with them, either— she would be en route from Morley’s when she could make the best excuse to leave. Cassiopeia, Galen, and Devar stood guard as always, now at Claude’s back instead of Oswald’s. Holst was present, with Hilda and Marianne. Lysithea was attended by Catherine and Cyril; it went unspoken that they were Lysithea’s temporary retainer and guard for no explicit reason at all. 

Seething though he was, he felt most of those present could be counted as his closest confidants. The original Golden Deer were back together under one roof; only their class transfers were missing: Linhardt and Felix; Yuri and Hapi.

_And our professor. _He chased the nostalgic thoughts away.

Everyone was armored, now, where the day before the Lords and nobles of Derdriu were content to stroll in silk finery. No tomorrow those who attended the Roundtable would arrive with the telltale clink of mail or plates under their coats: prepared for assault.

They looked on Claude warily: there was something missing from him. Hilda knew the mask he wore was absent; Marianne thought it might be his joy had left him much like herself; Lysithea was only embarrassed for his lack of restraint… the rest were deeply concerned. Altogether, the table remained quiet and cautious as though imperiled on a rope bridge that might snap with too hasty a movement.

When Claude spoke, his faux diplomatic voice did not match his expression.

“Last week, some of you know, Lorenz and I were attacked during training. My grandfather thought it was best to restrict the more gruesome details: the mage was unfortunately devoured by one of our wyverns, so there was no lead to follow. The bad practice and quick depletion of the enemy mage’s magic, and no follow up attack, lead us to believe he was a sort of ‘bargain’ assassin hired by a lower House. We consider the matter resolved and unrelated to this incident.”

“Who cares!” Hilda stood up, little care for the others who recoiled at her outburst. For all her concern, only she and Claude were in the room. “Is Lorenz okay? We were only told he was badly hurt, and nothing else! Why isn’t he here?” Interruptions and disregard for procedure suited her; very much her father’s daughter. But even Lord Goneril tried to scold her outburst, withdrawing only after a sharp look from Claude. Marianne stood up nervously.

“I-If we are addressing the topic, I am… also concerned for Lorenz’s wellbeing… before we address the broader implications.” Marianne stuttered, to everyone’s surprise. Edmund nodded in support.

Claude was able to soften a little at the warm concern echoed in her gentle words. He sighed.

“… Lorenz is alive. A combination of a severe head wound and nearly fatal knife wound that grazed his lung have left him unconscious.” Claude’s voice hitched; he cleared his throat to continue. “He is stable, but not showing signs of recovery.” Claude motioned to a servant, who brought the knife. “The weapon used, a triple-blade sai, has no documented survivors. Lorenz will be the first.” He assured quickly as Hilda and Marianne both covered their mouths in shock. Lysithea and Catherine leaned forward in their seats, exchanging a glance. _They’re making the connection. We’ve all seen a similar knife before._

“Can we see him?” Hilda asked, leaning into the table, tearing up. She looked as though she expected to be taken to him right away.

“After the meeting, I’ll take you to him personally.” Claude said stiffly. He felt the same; he would prefer to leave this to someone else in charge, and return to Lorenz to wait, as if his presence would inspire him to wake. But he was at the top, now. There was no one to defer to. For the time being, the Healers had access to his unlocked room and it left him uneasy; he regretted, somewhat, having moved Lorenz to his own suite. Hilda was welcome, but if anyone else demanded to see him it would be difficult to explain. He cleared his throat to return his mind to the meeting at hand.

“We have one guard, Leonie, recovered from the scene of the attack by our guard after Lorenz did not return to the Roundtable Hall. She believes she was poisoned and her memory of the events is suppressed. We also have a servant missing: the Butler Morven; his horse and Leonie’s were both taken as well.”

“One of the witness’s to your appointment to proxy? That is some coincidence.” Goneril aired his suspicions.

“Acting under the my order to attend Lorenz as an esteemed guest of House Riegan, they accompanied him to the house of Jericho Anderton during the Roundtable recess.” Claude tersely rolled the explanation into the next tangent of information, not giving Goneril time to object. ”Jericho is a recent associate of Lorenz’s; he was murdered during an initial attack in his home. At some point afterward, Lorenz arrived at Gloucester Hall: the Count will not share any details with us beyond the claim that they were both attacked by an assassin who warped into their home.”

“The _claim_ that they were attacked?” Margrave Edmund asked. “Please clarify, do we have reason to suspect there was no attacker?”

“That’s not what I meant— but he isn’t being forthcoming so we have no proof. That is all.” Claude did not believe the Count had anything to do with the attack at the Anderton’s, but he was at least considering that the fatal attack on Lorenz could have come from the Count himself. After all, that is why Lorenz fled Gloucester in the first place… although his son was able to place a tentative faith in the Count, Claude could not.

“Of course. Please choose your words more carefully in the future.” Edmund instructed.

“Right, I apologize for the confusion.” Claude conceded; Edmund was at least tolerable. He nodded in approval. “The only other information we have is that there was magic at play. Several guards were killed instantaneously at the Anderton house. We can’t investigate further until Morven is found, Lorenz wakes, or the Count decides to share new information.”

“Do you think the Gloucester boy is the primary target, considering two attacks during the past week alone?” Goneril asked.

“I don’t think Lorenz was the target, in either attack. The previous attempt seemed to be centered on me and my wyvern, unless it was just so poorly planned the mage missed his target.” Claude considered carefully what conjectures to share. “… I have my own suspicions about this attack. I believe Jericho was the target; I think Lorenz wasn’t supposed to be there, maybe. It was too haphazard; it’s drawing too much attention.” He realized in passing that he had slipped back into casual speech… but in private and in duress he would let it be. 

“Agreed. What fool would attack Count Gloucester and his legacy so openly? There will be no end to the blood spilled over this matter.” Edmund said coolly. There was a long silence for everyone to consider the coming unrest.

“Is there anyone you think might attack Jericho and Lorenz both?” Lysithea asked after the moment had passed. Claude couldn’t answer her. Just as he avoided mentioning the red-headed man in their holding, who had yet to wake fully, Claude didn’t want to disseminate any information about the Benettos House— mere knowledge of them was dangerous. Lysithea he could tell later, but they were in mixed company.

“… Not at this time, no. If any new information comes to light, I will call another private meeting.”

Edmund and Goneril thanked Claude, staying behind with Oswald in the council room as Claude and Lysithea with her retinue gathered in the hall with the rest of the Golden Deer.

“So. Uh. I guess you want to see Lorenz…” He wanted to deny them, he couldn’t think of any other way to do so politely except telling them Lorenz was in his own room. _I could lie, say its a guest suite… no it’s too obvious._

“Actually, no, I’m fine.” Lysithea answered first. “If I know Lorenz, I know he wouldn’t want to be seen like that. I’ll visit when he wakes up.” She declined before Claude could embarrass himself.

“Me too.” Marianne borrowed Lysithea’s excuse. “Or, I should wait until I have flowers, or something. Please send word when he is conscious.”

All the rest agreed in unison; that they should wait until he wakes, and then their wistfulness devolved into plans for a party. A get-well-reunion-birthday-congratulations-on-becoming-Duke party. Altogether again they were just like when they parted.

Claude and Lysithea wished they were so carefree, but remained grim. 

She grabbed Claude’s arm.

“We need to talk, about the weapon.” She hesitated, but everyone near was trustworthy. The good humor died down. “It’s the same kind that was used to kill Jeralt. Three blades, I’ve never seen another like it.”

“I hoped you would all catch on. Forges are forbidden to produce them— the last forge that specialized in tri-blade weaponry was destroyed half a century ago. The smiths who tried to take it up again were executed. People caught with them are sentenced to no less than a year hard labor.” They looked at him with confusion at his extensive knowledge. “I researched it, after what happened at the Academy.” He said dryly.

“Right. So it’s probably the same people?” Ignatz assumed.

“… I don’t want to think so. But maybe. It means we have to start testing each other— the same way you test your food or tea. If someone behaves strangely, they might be one of those _things_.” Claude contemplated for a moment. “… If someone starts acting weird, ask them something only they know.”

“That sounds like a trick from a fairytale!” Lysithea complained. “Do we really need to—”

“Fairytales are also cautionary tales.” Cyril added. His eyes grew wide when given full attention. “Ya know, to teach kids difficult things, or lessons that might be forgotten over time. Lysithea told me that. When I tried to read some, I thought they were dull. But they hide things: maybe those things like you said attacked Jeralt have been around for a long time.” Lysithea looked very proud, but a bit annoyed.

“Good point. I know you’re all probably tired from the hasty trip here. The servants here will lead you to a private sitting room to recoup before you return to the city.” Claude motioned to a lone servant, straining for his manners: the least he could manage was to be polite to his own friends.

They thanked him, making their way down the hall with their guide. Hilda stayed behind.

* * *

“You’re horrible. If Lorenz looks half as bad as you, I’ll be surprised he’s alive.” Hilda looked on Claude with pity.

“Don’t joke about it!” He snapped. She brushed off his irritation, taking his arm to pull him toward the foyer.

“I know you’re upset. Come on, where is your infirmary?” She asked.

“He’s not in the infirmary. Too risky.” He mumbled.

“So… where’s he at?” Hilda 

“Lorenz is… In my room.”

She sighed with disbelief.

“You’re keeping him in your room? Oh Claude.” She gave him a sad smile. “You’re falling apart.” She pulled him closer in arm as they took to the stairs, following the hallway, turning several corners to find Claude’s suite.

“It was pretty stupid, in hindsight. I really got lucky when our head healer, Corliss, refused to move him earlier.” He chewed his lip. “The Count turned up, and luckily Lorenz was still in the infirmary.”

“Goodness… Could you imagine bringing the Count to your room. No denying it then…” The conversation tapered off. They stood in front of the door, uncomfortable. Hilda squeezed his hand, waiting to be let in properly.

“…If he wakes up you’ll be the first person he wants to see.” Claude assured her with an empty smile. He felt for his key before remembering it was unlocked. 

The healers were working at him again— focusing on his head this time. Thyrsus might help him heal more quickly, but the White Mages refused to touch it after seeing the aftermath wreaked on Lalia’s body. She used it full power; they would not need to, but they could not unsee her burned arms. It had been pried from her hands with the use of a scalpel, fused as it was to her fingertips. The cursed item was wrapped and stored in a false bottom locked drawer. But it still made the room uncomfortable. Something was wrong with it.

“Lord Claude. His breathing has improved.” Corliss announced from the basin where she washed her hands. Lorenz’s bandages were fresh, and it seemed he would no longer need his head bandaged. “It is most promising. There is no fever to speak of— a development which has confounded my medical experience.”

“Good. Great... How much longer? For the healing just now.”

“We are finishing up; I expect you want time alone?” Corliss looked to Hilda and back.

“Please. When you’re finished.”

“Oh. Oh my.” Hilda whispered. She approached the bed slowly. “You said… the Count wouldn’t tell you what happened?”

“No. Acted like he had something to hide, but why? I don’t get it.” Claude joined her at the bedside. “You know, he’s been in here, but I haven’t really looked at him… I haven’t _really_ looked at him at all since I flew in.” He still didn’t, instead focusing on a point just above his body, staring at the distant corner where the curtains draped along the floor in lazy folds. 

“Where will you sleep?” Hilda asked; it was becoming dark out. The nonsense conversation was grounding. There was plenty of room in the bed— Lorenz centered on the bed left enough room for two grown men. But for now it seemed wrong to even touch the coverlets.

“On the couch. If I can.”

“I’m so sorry Claude. I wish I could do more. I can stay here…”

“No. This is enough.”

Claude put his arm around her shoulders, leaning into her hair. He shut his eyes and breathed in her familiar, soft and rosy perfume to distract him from the world for just a moment. She took his hand where it rested on her shoulder, petting it slowly.

“Hilda, I’m so—”

“May I help you?” Corliss asked, meeting someone in the doorway as she made to leave.

“Pardon my intrusion; I am Lady Hilda’s chaperone.” The voice of Hilda’s Maid-Matron carried sternly across the room. “Lord Claude, I must ask you to mind your manners, per Lord Goneril’s demand.”

Before Claude could lose his temper, Hilda flew into a rage. She ducked out of Claude’s embrace, turned, and crossed the room at a threatening pace.

“CHAPERONE?! _Chaperone_?!” She bellowed, pointing sharply at the maid-matrons face. “I know my father thinks so little of Claude or me or whatever, but I promise, I’m not going to— to— what do you think I’m going to do?! Get out!” 

Hilda lunged for the maid-matron. 

She managed to seize her wrist, pulling her into a head butt before Claude was able to pull her away. 

“Enough of this! I’m 21 and I will not have any more chaperones! Or retainers! Or maids or whatever the hels you want to call it! You tell him that!” Hilda threw her arm toward the door frame, hanging from Claude’s arms.

“This is most unbecoming Lady Hilda.” The maid-matron recoiled in disgust, rubbing the fresh bruise on her forehead. 

“You’re unbecoming!”

She disregarded Hilda, turning her appeal on Claude.

“Your grace, Duke Riegan, this will reflect poorly on you and Lady Hilda both if you allow it to continue. Please release her into my care to avoid further disturbance”

“Release? You’re lucky I’m holding her back! I think you should go.”

“I cannot, by Duke Goneril’s order.”

“Corliss, please alert the guard in the hall that miss— uh— ma’am maid whoever is to be escorted back to Duke Goneril, and confined to quarters or something.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Poorly treatment for guest.” The maid-matron protested coldly.

“You know, I don’t really have the patience for it.” It was Hilda’s turn to block Claude, while the Maid Matron back-stepped into the guard that came to collect her.

After watching the Maid-Matron being escorted from the room, Croliss left promptly, and Hilda’s maid Nasira dipped her head in from the hall. 

“Hilda, if you require anything of me, I will be in the Servants Hall. I will return in one hour to see to your needs.”

“Make it two hours. Thank you Nasira.” Hilda exhaled slowly, recovering her calm and composure. Nasira nodded and closed the door for them. 

Claude locked it behind her.

“I’ve never seen you so angry.” She said quietly, returning to the bedside now that the healers and varied nuisances were gone.

Hilda took to the bed on Lorenz’s right, tucking her knees under to sit beside him. Claude looked at her curious, but gave it up: too tired to be jealous. 

“So he’s been like this since this afternoon?”

“He’s moved some.”

“Oh.” She smoothed his hair, but there was not a strand out of place: he hadn’t moved at all. He was always porcelain pale, but now he was ghostly like unglazed bone china. Only his eyes were both inset with deep circles. Against his unnatural pallor, he looked like he had been punched evenly in each eye. “Lorenz?” She tried a whisper.

They waited. Nothing.

“They made a mistake attacking Count Gloucester directly. Nothing is going to stand still any more.” Claude said, brooding across from Hilda from the bed’s other side.

“No, it’s not. I should really go home…. I can’t do all this. I’m good at fighting when I need to be, but assassins?” Her hands worried over Lorenz’s hair. 

Claude, tired of standing and staring awkwardly from a distance, joined the bed, sitting carefully on it’s edge. It was broad enough that Lorenz remained undisturbed. The amiable and diplomatic mask he wore was full off now, the look in his eyes seething as his gaze bore into a wall across the room. Hilda was desperate to put the mask back on; he was frightening this way. He would never bring harm to her, but to see him as vulnerable shook her foundation. 

_I have to make him smile. For me, and for Lorenz._

“Claude, do you remember that time we snuck that wine into the Academy, and it turned out to be a lot stronger than we thought because one of the markings rubbed off?”

“I might.”

“It was so stupid fun. All three of us... I wonder sometimes, why taking it to Lorenz’s room your first idea.”

“… Is that a real question? Because I thought it would be hilarious, and it _was_ up to a point… do you remember all of it?”

“Nope.” She lied. “I remember you took your shirt off because it was ‘too hot’ and then I passed out. What happened after that?”

“Nothing really. I talked to Lorenz for a little while, then we fell asleep.”

“Huh.” She wondered why he would still lie to her all these years later, but it wasn’t really her business; and she lied easily about their night in the tavern inn. It was best for everyone. “This is almost like that. Do you think he remembers?”

“Lorenz never forgets anything embarrassing, but he’ll pretend he does.”

“Pfft haha.” She struggled to laugh, but hoped it would inspire Claude to do the same. “It’s true… Sometimes I wish we could be like that again. Carefree and stupid. Unimportant enough for people to not try to kill us— Maybe if we were commoners.”

“Like the two weeks after Garreg Mach fell: alone on the road, almost starving to death and freezing at night. Just us and the commoners. Those were the days.” The corner of his mouth turned up at last. Only slightly, but enough.

“Not like that! Stupid—” Hilda raised her voice slightly, then stopped herself as though she might actually wake Lorenz. She let another deep sigh escape, then carefully lowered to lay beside him. “…I wonder what he’s dreaming about.”

Without thinking, Hilda kissed him on the cheek. Claude furrowed his brow again.

“… _For sweet dreams_.” She whispered to excuse her intimacy.

“I just… I want to shake him awake. I get so angry. I thought I would be sad, but I’m just. Pissed. I was upset when he didn’t come back after the recess, and it just hasn’t stopped since.”

“Do you really think it’s Lorenz you’re angry at?”

“I don’t know! I’m just _so_ tired, Hilda.”

“You should sleep in your own bed, for a little while.” Hilda looked plenty settled in herself. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He glanced toward Lorenz, just beyond him.

“That bed is big enough for four people, and you can’t possibly hurt him anymore than he has been.”

“I guess.”

“Then it’s decided!” She pulled a blanket around her shoulders. 

“… You?”

“Didn’t you hear? I’m a liberated woman now. But yelling like that used up all of my energy.” She snuggled into the blanket, the worry never quite leaving her face. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at home anyway.” She added morosely. It was enough to cut through Claude’s anger: he felt the fatigue and worry in her voice was his too.

Claude gave up. He lay down on the opposite side of the bed from Hilda, as close to the edge as he could without falling off. Turned away.

Far away from Lorenz. 


	72. Red Wine

_The familiar sound of his lock being picked distracted Lorenz from his studies— For the fifth night in a row. He was in no mood for Claude’s lecherous company. Lorenz focused on studying to distract him from the Empire’s advancement toward Garreg Mach: restoring some normalcy to his day to day. Claude broke that routine by coming to him every night of the week now. It was no longer a rare occasion to be kept awake until the early morning, and it was not worth the exhaustion._

_Or so Lorenz pretended._

_It was one of Hilda’s distinct giggles carrying through the door that excited him more. He waited as though unaware, until finally he heard Claude cussing at the lock. His foul language was loud enough that he could no longer pretend not to hear it. Lorenz let him finagle with the lock a while longer while donning a portion of his uniform- pants and jacket- for decency sake._

_Opening the door, Lorenz found a bottle of wine thrust into his face: nothing cheap, in fact, it was very fine. It was also forbidden on the grounds, with so many of the students being minors. Claude, knelt on the floor, pulled it back grinning.Hilda stood over him with her hands on his shoulders, smiling sweetly._

_“Brought you a gift.” Claude winked. “To share, of course.”_

_“Hush, that’s mine!” Hilda smacked him. “It’s my birthday, and I wanted to try red wine, so Claude smuggled some for me.” She announced._

_Ignoring Claude’s flirtatious advances, Lorenz directed all his attention to Hilda._

_“I am honored you wish to share your birthday with me, but this is rather inappropriate. Let us resolve this inside to avoid a scene.” Lorenz took Hilda’s hand, guiding her over the threshold. Claude followed; though Lorenz tried to keep him from entering, a short and muted tussle ended with Claude taking a seat on his desk. Lorenz chose to ignore him further. “Did you get the flowers I sent to you?”_

_“Yes! It was so sweet… I pressed some of them already to keep.” Hilda flattered him. Lorenz thought she might be blushing, but could not tell from the single lamp lit. It warmed him through regardless. “Sorry I couldn’t come to tea. I was with the professor all day. But I’m here now!”_

_“I could not hope to compete with our illustrious professor… But a midnight meeting? Are you not concerned for your reputation? Wine makes fools of the wisest among us.” He asked in his own earnest concern: Lorenz could never think less of her, but society was not so kind._

_“Ugh, you sound like my mother.” She complained, switching her voice from annoyed to sweet. “You’re my friend, aren’t you Lorenz? And if I don’t drink it with you, I’ll have to drink with Claude alone.”_

_“That is unacceptable; whatever lie Claude has told you, please be aware that you could choose not to partake at all. There is nothing wrong with saving the savoring of wine until your palette matures.”_

_“Have you tried wine? Are you waiting?” She cornered his excuse neatly._

_“Well— not particularly. Wine is a specialty in Gloucester, so I have tasted many wines— ”_

_“Lorenz, see, I’m already behind!” Claude stifled a laugh behind Lorenz’s back. “It’s really important to me to know my way around social situations, I’ve learned all the teas and dishware and where the silverware goes: a distinctive wine palette is all I’m missing, and I’m already twenty! Who better to teach me? You’re the first person I thought of.”_

_“… Well I must say I am flattered… Come, give me the bottle.” Claude straightened: hiding his amusement, he turned the bottle over to Lorenz. “Low content— this is terribly weak. Strange for such a fine wine. And 1145… This is exceptional. A half cup will do you no harm. Unfortunately I only have tea cups available, so it will not be a true tasting— the shape of the wine glass directs the aroma, and so it affects the taste you perceive through your sense of smell— Perhaps we should wait until I can procure glasses…”_

_“Oh wow, that’s so interesting, teacups will have to do, pour up!” Hilda encouraged him. Lorenz looked uncertain, but eager to please, he turned away to retrieve the cups. Hilda winked at Claude behind his back, thumbs up. _

_Lorenz started to move the tea table he stored in the corner to the center of the room._

_“Wait, no.” Claude halted him. “It’s eleven at night, you don’t have to set up the whole spread.”_

_“… We already do not have the proper wine glasses, we should at minimum follow the wine tasting protocols we can.”_

_“Nah, that’s eleven a.m. wine protocol. I’ll show you eleven p.m. 'wine protocol'.” Claude helped him put the table back. “First you sit in the floor, in a circle—”_

_“You are making this up.”_

_“Yep. That’s the rules.”_

_“No—”_

_“Sounds fun!” Hilda cheered. She sat on the the floor swiftly, her skirts fluffing then falling around her. She looked expectantly at Lorenz. _

_“— Fine” Lorenz dusted his pants, the spot where he planned to sit, and let himself down carefully. “I am in the floor. What more do you want? Silly hats?”_

_“Damn, I forgot the silly hats. Hilda, can you believe? Maybe next time Horse Boy.”_

_“Stop calling me that!” He hissed._

_“See, told you he hated it.” Claude turned to Hilda as if winning a bet._

_Hilda giggled before scolding him._

_“Don’t be mean! You’re just jealous he’s already mounted, and you aren’t even allowed to fly a wyvern yet.” Hilda took the cup Lorenz held, then pulled his hand away, as he tried to fill the cups to end the visit quickly. “You’re very good at it too. Maybe we should send Claude away.”_

_Claude grimaced, Lorenz froze, fixated on Hilda’s hand over his own. He blushed, awkwardly gripping the bottle of wine for embarrassment, with nowhere to pour it. _

_“Hilda, stop, you’re killing him.” Claude complained._

_“I’m sorry, was that inappropriate? Haha! Really, I’m sorry. Here, go ahead and pour.” She returned the cup to him. _

_Lorenz became thoughtful, filling the cups too full while Claude and Hilda mocked his room._

_“… You are both making a fool of me.” He said quietly when he finished. “I know that I am a bit naive in my desire to be the best noble I can, and in the strides I take to project that air I am still unpracticed… I know I do not fit in with more care-free people of my same age. But I take my role very seriously. You two may help yourselves, I am going for a walk.”_

_“Lorenz, wait!” Claude grabbed his sleeve before he could rise from the carpet. “I don’t think that, we don’t think you’re naive. I really like you. We’re joking with you. Come on, you know better.”_

_“Sometimes I cannot tell. I do not think— if you were really my friend— it would be so hard to distinguish.”_

_“Maybe… we were a little harsh. I got excited about the wine and got carried away.” Hilda apologized, watching as Claude’s thumb caressed Lorenz’s sleeve where he refused to release him. “You know, let’s not talk. Let’s just enjoy the wine.”_

_“… Very well.” Lorenz took up his cup, sipping, but offered no instruction for the wine tasting he was so enthusiastic about. “I was annoyed when I heard you trying to unlock my door, Claude, but I am truly delighted with your taste in wine…”_

_“Only the best for Hilda.” Claude clinked his teacup against hers._

_“Hm! Please do not cheer the fine dishware.” Lorenz begged. “I mean… I simply do not want it to chip.” He took several deep drinks before upending his cup, acutely aware that he had spoiled the fun twice over now. He refilled his cup, and distracted by his thoughts, topped Hilda off without considering her low tolerance. Claude helped himself. _

_“This is really lovely.” Lorenz looked into the bottom of his second empty cup, now fighting a smile. “But I am much concerned that the bottle was perhaps very mislabeled. You should stop drinking, Hilda.” He looked up to find her drinking directly from the bottle._

_“You lie. You have drinked before.” He accused. _

_“Only once and it was reallllly good sooo you know. It’s my birthday I wanted red wine. I’ve never had red wine.” She leaned back onto Claude. “Claude got me the drink the first time too. He’s so nice isn’t he?” Claude seemed to be handling the wine with more composure, or perhaps he was simply trying to remain still as possible. His eyes closed, he pulled at his collar, and then at his waistband, but otherwise remained oddly rigid. Lorenz could see him sweating against the lamplight. _

_“He is… _Very_ nice.” Lorenz became uncomfortable, loosening his own collar when Hilda drew his attention to Claude. He was torn, wishing Hilda might leave, or that they both might leave. Some selfish part of him wished only Hilda would stay. How they lay on each other made him jealous, but more. Something else bothered him and it was not rooted in displeasure._

_“Hmhmhmhm. Claude. Kiss me.” Hilda asked, trying to wrap her arms around his neck and missing from the awkward angle._

_“Mhmph. No.”_

_“Come on, you do it all the time.”_

_“Nope. Not since we came to the Academy.” Claude denied it, turning his face as if to avoid Lorenz’s gaze, although his eyes remained shut._

_“Pfft. Yeah, it’s been a long time. That’s why I’m asking. It’s my birthday.”_

_Lorenz ran his fingers along the lip of his empty cup, trying to distract himself so as not to play audience to their flirting. He was becoming bothered, curious. Bold in the company of intoxication._

_“You cannot argue with that, Claude. It _is_ her birthday, after all.” Lorenz poured another cup. “Is the wine all you planned to give her? Paltry.”_

_Claude finally opened his eyes, squinting at Lorenz confused. Encouraged, or maybe irritated, he leaned down and kissed Hilda as deeply as he could with her head tilted backward. Lorenz’s eyes widened; he thought Claude would have a bit more tact, but he was oddly pleased to be mistaken. _This is much stronger than I anticipated,_ he blamed the wine steadfastly. _

_Seeing the pink of Hilda’s tongue in brief glimpses between Claude's lips was startling. Lorenz had never considered her tongue before, trying as he was, constantly, not to think of her at all; least of all the warmer, hidden parts of her body. She drew away from him briefly, shifting to get closer, more; her skirt slid up her legs as she struggled against the imbalance of the wine. She found Claude’s lips again, quickly overwhelmed by his fervor as he forgot their present company. Claude slid his hand up Hilda’s thigh, pushing her skirt back further to reveal the curve of her bare hip. He moved to lay over her on the floor. _

_“Huhnn.” Lorenz hummed into his third cup. _This is not so bad. I suspected as much… _Lorenz tried to feel some hurt, to rekindle the jealousy he felt when sober. He still felt like an extra… but not excluded. Watching them— them knowing he was watching— it felt surreal. A guest of honor to their intimacy. He wondered if anyone else had ever witnessed the way their bodies seemed to fit together so perfectly._

_“Wait.” Hilda’s pink eyes opened slowly, searching absently around the room until they landed on Lorenz. “Oh no. I’m so sorry Lorenz. I’m really not like this.”_

_“Me? Iyamfine. It is fine. I do not mind.” He raised a knee, trying to conceal his excitement. “I would not think of you badly.”_

_“Noooo.” She struggled away from Claude pushing him by the face. She crawled over to Lorenz, stumbling and falling in his lap. “You’re too nice. I’m so sorry, Lorenz… I know you like Claude.”_

_“Hmmn. On the contrary.” The many suppressed fantasies of Hilda flooded over him at the sight of her cleavage pooling against his lap, his arousal pressed precisely between the dip in her breasts. Hilda laying on him in combination with the wine lost him all of his carefully groomed composure. _

_Lorenz pulled her up, desperate to do any number of filthy things he had suppressed time and again, against his better judgment. He ran his hands along the curves of her bodice— pressed his lips into her neck. He heard Claude issue a weak and complainant “what the _fuck_?” somewhere else far away from the vanilla cascade of Hilda’s collarbone. She inhaled softly, giggling in his ear. She pulled closer to him, tighter. He nearly lost himself in her hair when it slid over her shoulder to fall against his cheek. _

_Lorenz turned away from her soft tresses, intent to kiss her, finally after so much longing. He loved her. Loved her more dearly than anyone could, he was sure— there could be no fault in his desires. He could only see her lips from so close: she smiled, she parted them to run her tongue across her bottom lip. _

She is perfect— strong and from a powerful family: the perfect woman even my father could not denigrate or cause injury— 

_Lorenz grew ill._

_“This is will not do.” He said uncomfortably close to her face before lifting her up, standing himself, and planting her on the bed. He folded several blankets around her, stacking his pillows on top of her imagining they were some impenetrable fortress. Tucked up to her nose, she looked around confused, then settled into the warm blankets. She was out cold in moments._

_Wide eyed, stiff and for the moment full of awareness, Lorenz turned on Claude. _

_“You reckless scoundrel, how _dare_ you— hmpgh.” His temporary lucidity left him; he stumbled when he tried to turn too quickly and rebuke Claude’s irresponsibility. Lorenz took the bed post and carefully lowered himself to the safety of the floor. “To put her in the midst of- in- such scandal!”_

_“Ughgh.” Claude pointed at him. “Hilda doesn’t want you.”_

_“Shhhe-seems to disagree.”_

_“She wanted to drink alone with me, then you came here.”_

_“Claude, this is my room. You came here.”_

_“Fffhth!” Claude made a strange sound, pressing his teeth to his lips in denial. He closed the circle between him and Lorenz, swaggering up to him on hands and knees the same way Hilda had. He was no threat still throbbing through his pants. “What are you gonna do about it— Ugh. It’s too hot.”_

_Claude stopped his angry tirade to remove his jacket and his shirt. After they were discarded, he looked around, lost._

_“Claude.” Lorenz beckoned him from where he leaned against the bed frame. All the anger left with his clothing, it seemed; he stumbled to lay in Lorenz’s lap in the same haphazard fashion Hilda had moments before. _

_“My hair isn’t as nice, but I still love you.” Claude whimpered face down against his stomach. “It’s not fair, she’s just so pretty. I can’t compete. Haha.” He nuzzled against the soft white linen under Lorenz's unbuttoned uniform._

_“Saints, never mind the hair... are you…” Lorenz stroked his dark curly hair to reassure him. He did not know how to respond to Claude declaring love in a drunken stupor. While he thought, he watched him breath in the lamplight, the landscape of his back rising and falling. Palm caressing his jaw, Lorenz urged Claude to face him._

_“Do you truly—”_

_“Take off your pants.”_

It was nonsense. Of course._ Lorenz held him in place while he unbuttoned his pants single-handed before he considered the indecency._

_“I am not disrobing in company of a Lady.” Lorenz had misgivings about allowing any such act to transgress in Hilda’s presence, but she seemed well and thoroughly out… and he could not wait. he had to direct his desires somewhere, those urges he turned away from Hilda to maintain her trust and her virtue. He had no such misgivings about a compromised Claude; he was always willing, and was willing now, enthusiastic and desperate as any other night. Maybe more than usual. _

_“Thatsz fine.” Claude leaned up to sit on his knees, pushing them under Lorenz’s legs to raise him abruptly from the floor. _

_Instead of taking Lorenz in hand, Claude instead pulled the back of his shirt up from where it was tucked, sliding his hand across his back. Lorenz considered fighting it, but was more intrigued than he would allow himself to be sober. When Claude pulled him by the hips to urge him closer, he did so without protest. _

_“What are you doing?” Lorenz asked, voice low and inviting. “Are you so jealous that you have decided to treat me gently?” He hoped so. Everything they did was so messy. Being with Claude was never the careful affection Lorenz assumed he would find with women. _

_Claude did not answer him. He looked Lorenz in the eyes as he pushed his middle finger into his mouth, drawing it out again soaked and dripping. Lorenz gave him a questioning look._

_“No. Not gently.” He slid his hand past Lorenz’s waist band, gripping in handfuls his backside, filled out now from the attentive training on horseback he was mocked for. Before Lorenz could guess his intentions, Claude pushed his finger underneath him, massaging in slow circles, firmer with each pass. He breathed heavily against Lorenz’s neck in rhythm with his strokes._

_“It’s too much… it…!” Contrary to his protest, Lorenz’s body melted against him. Claude sank his fingers into him. “Ah!” His legs seized, squeezing around Claude’s waist in his shock._

_“Want to uhh… Should I… stop?” Claude asked without looking at him._

_“Ah, I… hah…” When Claude tried to withdraw his hand, Lorenz leaned back onto his fingers. “N-no?”_

_“No? …Hold onto my shoulders.” Lorenz did as he was told, dizzy and hot from more than his drunkenness. Claude pulled his free hand around him, holding him too tight for comfort, but just right for pleasure. He kept his slow pace until Lorenz became restless, trying to sink his hips down as soon as he pulled out. Claude thrust his fingers in faster, eager to break Lorenz’s stifled breaths into moans. _   


_* * *_

  
_Hilda only passed out for ten minutes. Unsurprised, she woke to soft sighs and grunts. If she squinted, she could see Lorenz’s head tilted back onto the mattress. He bit his lip, but too often he could not contain himself, letting his mouth fall open to breath heavy, low moans escaping before he snapped his mouth shut again. His neck stretched back, making perfection of the bob of his throat as he swallowed between breaths. Just past his ecstasy she could see Claude’s hair where his face was pressed into Lorenz’s shoulder. _

I should have known this is why Claude wanted to come here. I was gonna sleep with this jackass._ The wine was meant to be shared in her room alone; apprehensions about the coming war and the future ahead put her out of her senses… now she was relieved Claude had been obsessed with Lorenz since that day on the bridge. He shared every detail with her; it made her happy and sad at the same time… She could see the outcome already, and they could never sustain it with their future at the Roundtable… or the coming war. Or their personalities. She couldn’t be too jealous because it was a tragedy unfolding._

_Or so she might consider, if she was not still spinning even while laying down._

Mmm. Wish I could leave, this is weeeeirddd. Lorenzz is kinda desperate, huh…I think… ugh. I think I’m— Hurgh. 

_“Blecht!” Hilda leaned over the bed, soiling the carpet. She rolled over and pretended to be hard asleep to avoid letting them know she was awake for their tryst._

_“Ah! Oh! Saints!” Lorenz squirmed from Claude’s embrace, away from the mess, out of breath._

_“Ughghh. Gross, _Hilda_.” Claude slurred. “Hilda?”_

_“I think I should leave.” Lorenz announced pushing Claude away._

_“Lorenz. No.”_

_“I am going back to my own room.” He found his way to the door, and stood fanning himself to prepare for the walk, abandoning Claude to the mess made to search for the room he had just left._   


_* * *_

  
_I thought that memory was lost. Wish it was. How awkward, waking up on the hall stairs after getting lost trying to find the same room I left. Linhardt never let me live it down after finding me. _Lorenz tried to remember where he was, but could recall nothing.

There was a pained whisper in his ear. At first the words escaped him: they were plain language, but garbled. He struggled to focus on them, sure they were of paramount importance if coming to him in the afterlife.

“If I wasn’t head of the Roundtable, if we weren’t playing this stupid rival act I would have been with you. I’m so sorry.”

_Claude? Am I at my funeral? Are people whispering over my casket?_ Panic seized Lorenz.

“See, doesn’t that feel better?” A sweet voice cooed from the other side of him. “You can tell him again when he wakes up.”

_Hilda… I can wake still… Bless her._

“What if he doesn’t. What if he sleeps for a long time. For years? It’s happened to people before.”

“Lorenz wouldn’t shirk his duties that long. Let him rest for a little bit more.”

_No more resting! Someone has wronged me and I will burn down the city and everyone in it to smoke them out; Derdriu will weep for the fury of Lorenz Hellman—_ He curtailed his instinctive claim to revenge, the trademark of spite Gloucester’s were feared for... that he had not been spared in his heredity.

He could feel more now, breath on his skin, a hand on his arm. It was much preferred to the violent thoughts that plagued him; he preferred romance to the conflict his father seemed to revel in. He _did_ want to rest. It would be years before he could truly. Just now, lain between Hilda and Claude was fine enough.

“You know, what’s worse… I wonder sometimes, what if this isn’t Lorenz? I lost sight of him for two years. Or what if this body that showed up yesterday is one of those things?”

“You can’t think like that. There are ways to tell— when he wakes up we’ll know. We’ll ask him. That Monica girl was someone that no one in the Academy cared to remember, but she still seemed wrong. Between the two of us, one of us should be able to tell if it isn’t him.”

“Yeah.”

For a few moments, Lorenz rebelled against the dark, trying to wake fully. He failed again and again. After some time, they drifted into sleep as well, breath becoming slow and restful.

It seemed he was not meant to wake yet. His body defied him as he drifted back to resting, hoping for more memories they shared together. Lorenz struggled one last time to make some sign, to comfort them as they tried to do for him, but the echoes of the outside world dulled before he could remember how to speak or move.


	73. Careless Confidence

Claude woke on his own. For a moment, he reveled in Lorenz and Hilda both in his bed; whatever the circumstance, the patina of dreaminess made it easy to imagine they were resting in a bed that belonged to all of them, in some distant impossible future. 

Clarity of mind rudely set in. 

In the dark, a hall clock dutifully chimed eleven. _We’ve been asleep for two hours? Duke Goneril must be drinking with Grandpa. And where the hell is Corliss?_ His rage surged again, as fresh as it was before Hilda managed to talk him to sleep. It only burned hotter as he lit an oil lamp and found Lorenz to be just as pallid as he had been hours ago, no change. He looked wretched enough that he might be dead— 

Claude froze, held his breath.

Waited.

Finally, Lorenz’s chest rose and fell, shallow, but breathing. The rest of his body remained still as death. 

Determined to find their neglectful head mage, he took Lorenz’s Deer Key to leave with Hilda— to let herself out and lock up after should she realize what an idiot she was being defying her father and sleeping with two men. His anger spiked again: how stupid he was for losing his composure and letting it happen. Again. _Lorenz_ would have put a stop to it; Lorenz would be appalled. _But he isn’t going to be around all the time. _

Claude tucked the Deer Key into Hilda’s cleavage so she couldn’t miss it. He felt the pull of a smile as she wrinkled her nose against the cold press of the key, but he was beginning to fill again with tense energy, ready to strike at enemies that had not yet been revealed. An unwarranted feeling of disappointment overwhelmed him: he looked at Hilda and Lorenz, her forehead now tucked against his shoulder, and felt alone. No matter how much he trusted them, of all people, it still felt like they were letting him down. It wasn’t fair to them. All their hard work, and in his heart he still saw them as distractions. 

Liabilities.

Mortal.

_Can’t depend on people I have to protect._ There was an empty pedestal in his mind that no one else could fill, not even Lorenz and Hilda together. He thought Byleth was dependable, an ally and a leader. And she died.  
  
Footsteps in the hall jolted him from his thoughts.

_If that isn’t Corliss, or her assistants, or some healer, I’m going to hunt her down—_ he unsheathed one of many concealed knives from his nightstand and crossed the room quietly to the door.

There was a reluctant tap. 

“Lord-Duke Riegan?” A heavy voice drawled. It was a guard, he knew that much, but Claude struggled to remember the man’s name— he needed to remember them all now, name and face and voice. He chanced opening the door a sliver.

“Go on.” Claude instructed.

“Alvina has returned. She waits in the foyer for instruction.” The wary guard stepped back to make space between himself and the disgruntled face that peered out from the door frame.

Claude emerged into the hall.

“I will go to her; you find Corliss, and tell her to come check on Lorenz or I’ll—” Claude stopped himself.

“Your grace?”

“Nothing. Just find her.”

  
* * *

With the sun long set, Claude expected Alvina would not return until the following day at the earliest. It abated some of his irritation when he descended into the grand foyer to see her familiar azure curls and glassy blue eyes. 

“Alvina!” Claude mismanaged his act, behaving more excited than he intended. Although, Alvina’s return was the only good news he had all day. He wished he could find genuine joy in her return.

“My Lord— ! Or, rather, Your Grace?”

“You made it—” He took her by the shoulders. “You were able to come without raising suspicion?”

“Yes! I told him, Morley, I would do the spy thing, look around House Riegan. He’s glad of it, to be rid of me for a while— I’ve upset him.”

“… Not doing anything too risky, I hope?”

“Nothing too out of line— stabbed someone I wasn’t supposed to. No one important.” 

“Sounds like my bad habits are rubbing off on you. You know why I called you back; you’ve heard everything by now?”

“Yes.” She said seriously.

Claude waited for her to ask about Lalia, but it seemed that particular news did not make it to her.

“We need to talk later, to see if we can connect Morley to the attack, but… about Lalia…” He had decided against telling her Lalia was sleeping; no one could know they kept some strange creature under the house. He waited for her to make the leap.

“I am aware...” She sniffed politely. “It’s terribly tragic. She was like family to him. How did he take it?”

“He hasn’t woken yet. It’s going to be tough.”

Alvina was many things, but not heartless: she was sensitive, uncontrollably so, but always managed to bend it to her advantage. Now she looked like she might have been told it was going to rain on a picnic day, nothing more. It made Claude nervous, for a moment… But he had been shocked many times before by her switch in demeanor, and was constantly misjudging her abilities. She had become more and more deceptive in her act over the past months. Even her affair with Lalia was part of Claude’s attempt to learn more; maybe it really was just that. The two even seemed to draw away from one another before Alvina left— it could have been intentional, Alvina ‘wrapping up the job’ before setting off on another. He was quite impressed at her detachment: it was a point of pride for maids and she was coming into her own.

It seemed for a moment he was going to forget entirely about the Anderton brats. She would be more than pleased to let him remain distracted, but unsure of how much ignorance the maid she replaced could get away with without reprimand. She was supposed to find out more about his plans, but would it not be just as well to let it slip his mind?

“And the children? What is our next step?”

“Right. Lorenz was making his own plans, I think.” _Of course he would rush headlong into such a mess and leave me to clean up after his best-case poor planning;_ Claude’s disappointment redoubled, followed by deep shame. While he cared immensely for the fate of two defenseless children, he could not place them before his duties as Duke.

He couldn’t choose them over the Alliance, making a reckless move that would put his leadership to question. All that he had done already— sending out search parties along the road under obligation as the primary policing force in Riegan was the extent of his involvement. Anything more, like infiltrating the bank, would paint him as authoritarian.

_My choice would be to send Morven or Lalia discreetly. The others skilled enough are imprisoned or elsewhere in the country._

“We’re doing nothing. Until we know more or have the people to spare, my hands are tied.” He answered reluctantly. Claude did not maintain the chivalrous streak to bust down the doors of the bank and rush headlong toward his death. Lorenz or Leonie might; for a sickening moment, he was glad they were too injured to behave so foolishly.

Alvina nodded solemnly in agreement: she knew too well options and resources had run out.

All that mattered for now was the election and Lorenz’s recovery. One step at a time. Claude ran his thumb absently over the key in his pocket. 

_Should I give Alvina or Corliss my key while I’m at the Roundtable…_

“Something else on your mind, Your Grace?”

“Lorenz. I need someone to attend to him while I’m at the Roundtable in Derdriu tomorrow.”

“Are the healers not sufficient?” She asked sweetly. Her heart thumped wildly, thinking that the opportunity to keep watch on Lorenz would fall into her hands with such ease

“Well… he’s locked in my room. I don’t trust the healers; or anybody.”

“You trust me?” She clapped her hands together, smiling: Claude’s trust was no small gesture, and terribly convenient.

“…Yeah. I think Corliss has her hands full with Oswald anyway.” He handed her the key. “This is _my_ key: don’t lose it. Hilda has the other one.”

“My Lord… This means very much to me, and becoming your secondary retainer.” She hugged him abruptly, mocking the affections of the body she was mimicking.

“Right. Just do your best.” Claude hugged her uncomfortably, then pulled away to wander the Estate. “Go to my room. Hilda should still be there.”

* * *

When Claude pressed his key so childishly down into her bodice, Hilda pretended to remain asleep until she heard the door shut behind him. _At least he got his sense of humor back,_ she yawned. After rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she became acutely aware of Lorenz, her skin tingling— finding herself alone with Lorenz in a room so late at night was awkward, especially in his unconscious state. The only man she had ever made a point to be alone with was Claude, the morning before notwithstanding (she was too hungover to remember it)— any other men she found herself confined with were immediate family; or if they were suitors, they learned very quickly that Hilda could throw a punch quicker than they could fail at seducing her with shallow promises.

She put her hand to his forehead: no temperature still, as the healer had mentioned. Hilda smiled hopefully, then ran a finger over his chapped lips. _Hm. Dry. I wonder if he can feel that in his sleep?_ She rolled from Claude’s bed, found something akin to a vanity and began shuffling through everything he owned. After dispensing of several knives and questionable vials, she gave up: nothing was labeled. _Knowing him, any of these could be poison. What kind of idiot…_ Even among the medical detritus left by the healers there was nothing of lip balm. 

“Why am I worrying about lip balm?” Hilda asked herself aloud; although she tried to convince herself he was fine, seeing Lorenz like that upset her immensely. She was searching for distraction. 

There was a gentle tap on the door: the distraction she sought. _Although… should I even answer the door to Claude’s room? He seems to think the entire Estate is crawling with murderers._

“Claude? It’s Lysithea.”

“Oh! Hold on!” Hilda bound across the room. She fumbled with the unfamiliar lock for a moment before throwing the door open. “Changed your mind, huh?”

“Hilda, have you been _sleeping_ here?” Lysithea asked, noting the blanket marks patterned along her cheek.

“I got tired, so what?”

“Nothing, I guess. Anyway, I did change my mind: I’m going to go visit Lorenz. I’m not the best healer, but maybe I could do something before we return to the city. Lorenz and I aren’t really friends, but we might have some higher affinity than any random healer. Maybe I can do a little bit. It’s not like I can go back to the city tonight: the _former_ Duke invited all the ‘adults’ for a drink and I haven't seen Catherine or Shamir since.” Hilda noticed no one was with her; she must have abandoned poor Cyril in some distant corner of the Estate. Where at the meeting she held her chin up and remained stone faced in her role as a Great Lord, now she let a bit of her concern show, her bottom lip poking out slightly.

She reached out of Hilda’s view, pulling Marianne into the doorway.

“I brought Marianne too.”

“H-hhello Hilda.” She blushed. “I’m trained in White magic, if… You remember…”

“Mari, why you act like we aren’t friends always drives me crazy.” She grabbed Marianne, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Come in, both of you.”

They entered the suite tentatively, first wondering over Claude's taste for the colors of the sunset. At last their eyes fell on the bed.

“Wait, why is Lorenz here? Where’s Claude?” Lysithea asked, confused.

“Wellll, uhhh…” Hilda felt incredibly dull for revealing something so intimate. Her mind raced for excuses. “The uhh. The guards thought the infirmary wasn’t safe. Claude has different lock sets from the rest of the House: it was the most secure room. Since Count Gloucester is involved, only the best for Lorenz. And Claude is somewhere doing Duke stuff anyway. You know.” She wasn’t even convincing herself.

“Right, but… I wanted to ask why Lorenz ended up at the Riegan Estate in the first place.” Lysithea pressed. “And how did he return? Claude never explained how he got from Derdriu to here after he was stabbed: it’s eight miles!”

“Look, I only know what he said at the meeting. Maaaybe don’t bring it up. For now. Claude’s extremely busy.” Hilda deflected.

Lysithea was annoyed, but nodded seriously, content to leave it for now: she knew too well the burden of taking a seat. 

Walking deeper into the room, Lysithia and Marianne both became haggard and ill.

“Lysithea, what is that?” Marianne whispered.

“… Thyrsus?” Lysithea turned to Hilda. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know it was here.” Hilda scanned the room.

Lysithea walked the perimeter, until she came to a low dresser. She touched each of the drawers until she reached the bottom right. 

“It’s in here, can you unlock it?”

“We’ll see!” Hilda drew the Deer key proudly from her bosom: it was a perfect fit. They opened the drawer to find myriad books, next to a cloth wrapped Thyrsus. “How did you know it’s here?” She asked as she pulled the staff head out.

“How to explain… Anything that is magically charged gives off a sort of feeling. Like a breeze. Most people can’t feel it unless they’re attuned to magic. Thyrsus is a divine relic, so whatever it’s giving off is more like thunder; and right now it’s worse than usual. It’s almost painful.”

“Weird. Can you feel it too Marianne?” 

Marianne could only nod, nearing tears as she was. 

“Ahha!” Hilda pulled it free, holding it aloft, immune to whatever effect it was having on the others.

“Eugh!” Marianne covered her face.

Lysithea scrunched her face and took it from Hilda with a pained expression. She walked it over to Lorenz, setting it on his chest.

“Thats better.”

“Ooooohh I get it.” Hilda followed.

“I do not understand. Why did it stop?” Marianne asked from where she remained in front of the dresser.

“I don’t understand either, I just thought it would work.” Lysithea said.

“I can explain!” Hilda turned on Marianne. “The relics have… hm. _Feelings_, for lack of a better word.”

The explanation did not comfort Marianne. She looked toward the door. 

“So! Thyrsus is upset it was separated from Lorenz… maybe? Kinda like how I feel weird when I don’t have Freikugel. Is that what you were guessing, Lysithea?”

“Not really…” She sidestepped, embarrassed at such a intuitive solution, and more surprised that it worked. Now that it had been proved, there was a mystery to solve. “I was going to ask Claude if I could use it to heal Lorenz. He let me wield Thyrsus once at the Academy, when he couldn’t join us in battle, so I thought I could use it again.”

Hilda inhaled through her teeth. 

“Ooh, risky. You know his maid died using it to save him?”

“He isn’t in mortal danger now, so it won’t require nearly the energy the maid had to expend… and I know when to stop. Maybe his maid was just weak.” Lysithea turned her attention back to Lorenz, placing her palm over Thyrsus. It was hot to the touch before, but now it was only warm. _Most of the healing for the worst of the injury has been done. If I just activate it, it can probably do all the work. It can make up for the gaps…_

“I don’t think it’s a good idea!” Marianne said as loudly as she could; if she were braver, it might have been a yell. She might had stopped her.

“Then stay out of my way.” Lysithea inhaled carefully. She lay in the magic slowly, Thyrsus glow gently and pulsed at the labored tempo of Lorenz’s heart.


	74. Mistakes on Mistakes

Alvina tried to carry herself without revealing the giddiness she felt— she had one chance to fix her mistake, and it depended on cooperation from the Gloucester fool. Morley reprimanded her severely, rude enough that if there weren’t bigger and meaner people to keep her in line, she would have snapped him in half. Instead, she nodded and played a remorseful tune as Morley instructed her to make amends with the ugly young Lord, or to make threats if necessary. He outlined who was expendable among Lorenz’s acquaintance and who was not: she was meant to be very persuasive.

Fate had already sided with her when Claude entrusted her with his key. Alvina felt unstoppable. 

The scene she found on entering Claude von Riegan’s silly little locked room was amusing: Ladies Goneril and Edmund, and Countess Ordelia panicking about Lorenz’s body, the relic set on his chest and out of their control.

“RRRragh! It won’t let me stop!” Lysithea pulled at her own arm to no avail; it stayed fixed onto the staff head. 

Hilda grabbed a nearby chair, pulling it to the wall where heirloom axes had been mounted high above: she yanked one down, ready to butcher the young Great Lord in exchange for her life. Gathering back to Lysithea she raised it— 

“Lysithea! When you’re ready—!”

“What?! No!”

Hilda was in her right mind, knowing well the wrath of the relics: she had no delusions about regaining control. Lysithea tried to shield her arm from Hilda with her body. 

Alvina ran to the bed, feigning panic: she wanted to be near to see the light leave the Great Lord’s eyes. 

The young Lady Marianne became brave in an instant, helping Hilda by pulling Lysithea back away from Hilda’s mark. Alvina leaned into her false concern: if she could not watch the Countess die, she could at least hope to catch the blood spatter.

To everyone’s shock, Lorenz’s hand shot forth, seizing Lysithea’s trapped arm at the wrist.

“Cease.” Lorenz whispered, breaking the connection. The room shuddered, and Thyrsus went dark. 

“I tried— I couldn’t—” Lysithea stuttered, embarrassed at her nearly fatal failure. She jerked her hand away.

“Urgh.” He coughed in reply, but did not stir more. 

Hilda dropped the axe.

“_Lorenz!?”_ They all waited as Hilda fussed about him. After all manner of whispered urging for him to wake, she took the carafe of water from the bedside and let it drip into his mouth. Nothing.

“Wow… nearly worked a miracle, didn’t you?” Alvina observed from across the bed when Hilda drew back, resigned.

“Who are you?” She demanded sharply, putting to use the Noble tone she rarely used to impress her authority. She was livid at the woman’s attitude. 

“Alvina, My Lady. I believe we have met in passing.” She curtsied, then waved the Deer Key around. “Claude sent me to care for Lorenz while you return to your city estate.”

Hilda was shocked to see the key in someone else’s hands; assuming it wasn’t stolen. But the maid was right, Hilda had seen her with Claude on several occasions: she had no reason to doubt her, even if the unfamiliarity made her uneasy. 

“Well. Fine. Don’t touch the relic directly— and don’t let anyone else touch it. Just… leave it there.” Hilda instructed with the same authority. She didn’t like the maid by instinct, and she would make it obvious. “I will be sending healers to sit with you for the duration. No one is to be left alone with him. Including you.”

“Those were not the instructions I received from Duke Riegan, my Lady.” Alvina poured all the sweet ignorance into her voice as she could stomach. It did not work so well on women, and especially not Hilda Goneril.

Hilda rounded the bed carefully to loom over Alvina (if only by an inch or two), and leaned more into the arrogant condescension she typically despised.

“Claude is under duress. I am his retainer, and as my additional instruction errs on the side of precaution, you will do as I say or I will speak with _Duke Riegan_ about your nonchalant attitude.” Big words, mean intentions only suited her once in a blue moon; she felt Lorenz’s care was a noble cause for threat. 

“… Yes my Lady.” Alvina smiled. Hilda was one of the expendable ‘friends of Lorenz,’ but she needed to at least leverage her life against something if she wanted an excuse to kill her.

Hilda left, reluctantly, after calling in fresh healers arriving from the hall and giving them instructions. Corliss stumbled into the room after them: dark circles under her eyes, her shift with Oswald just ended when she was caught and made to attend to Lorenz’s condition (under uncertain threat, she was warned).

The healers came into the room as the Ladies left, all nerves.

Alvina set to putting their minds at ease.

“Come now, don’t stress! This is the easiest job you could have: to sit here and monitor Lord Gloucester.” Alvina pulled two chairs up. “Please, sit, rest. I hear you have had it this past day.” The assistants smiled with relief, but Corliss remained distraught as she set to checking Lorenz’s vitals obsessively. Alvina left and returned with tea, which they drank promptly without precaution: just as everyone knew the Deer key was not to be touched by staff, it doubled as a badge of authority when given deliberately. If even Claude could trust her, so could anyone in the estate. 

The were sleeping in only seconds. 

Alvina sat down on the bed, grimacing over the ugly young Lord. She removed the blankets to see her handiwork: a gouge so deep and nasty that it left a red, welted scar even with Lalia’s sacrifice.

“When will you wake, and what will you remember?”

* * *

The rest of the night passed quietly, Claude never returning to his room.

Alvina took sleep in a maid’s chamber, nearby to Claude’s suite, close enough to hear any commotion should the young Gloucester wake.

To her fortune, he was still out cold.

She returned to his side in the early morning to find his color was returning. With the seething Thyrsus at his side, Alvina had no doubt he would wake soon: she could not wait for it to happen in her absence. The chance came when the early shift of healers departed: weary and forgetting Hilda’s order to keep company in pairs or more in their fatigue.

Claude would be in Derdriu now, she should not be interrupted, but her time was fleeting.

Shutting the door behind the and healers, locking it softly, Alvina set down on the bed. 

“First your warp— you should not be versed in such a thing— with no tome and not even Thyrsus. You survive the warp, and then you turn up here, miraculously.” Alvina leaned over him. “I would finish you but I’m told it would end badly for my benefactors. Privileged snot.” She took him by the chin, turning his head left and right.

“Ahh, but at least you’ve been maimed for your struggles.” Under his hair, on his right, there was a nasty scar from his temple to behind his ear. “You need to wake. We must speak. This isn’t going to taste nice, but that’s the point.” She pulled a tiny vial from her dress. Uncorking the lid, she used the glass dropper attached to dip some of the noxious liquid into his mouth, then ran it under his nose for added effect.

His body rejected the taste and the stench, struggling to escape both, convulsing and gagging himself into a fitful waking.

“Eugh!”

“I supposed they haven’t done this before to let you recover, wake naturally. How pitiful. They might have caught me if they weren’t so coddling.”

Lorenz’s eyes fluttered open. His first instinct was to clutch Thyrsus; when he tried to raise his left arm defensively, terrible pain prevented him.

“Agh!” His eyes opened fully at last, searching for the source of his pain and the source of the stench, now dissipated. “…water.”

“Good morning, Lord Lorenz! You have finally awaken!” Alvina said cheerfully as she handed him the carafe. He struggled to lift his head to drink; for the moment she played the sweet and attentive maid. “Time is of the essence, My Lord. What do you remember?”

“W… where is Lalia?”

“Sleeping. Hurry My Lord, there is a plan being carried out, I must know what you remember. Duke Riegan may be making the wrong move as we speak.”

At the mention of Claude seeking some sort of revenge, he squinted to think, to search for any memory. He barely knew where he was, only that he was gruesomely injured.

“I was… was hhhh…” The carafe slipped from his hand, spilling onto the bed. “S-sorry. There was an attack. Who?”

“We do not know. Duke Riegan hoped you might remember.”

“No. Where is Claude?”

“In Derdriu. Gone far away.” She grew impatient, the same haste she felt in Jericho’s home. It would be best to threaten him now and let him recall later— lest he remember on his own time without her nearby to persuade him. “You truly remember nothing?”

“Hilda… I remember her voice…”

“Never mind Hilda!” Alvina snapped. She seized him by the throat. “It was me, I attacked you! You might _recall_ the past-day later— but all you need to _know_ is that one slip of the tongue and I gut your pretty little pink Goneril girlfriend.”

“W-what? Alvina— ack!”

“Hush now.” She pressed her hand over his mouth tightly. “You are weak now, I could kill you, _would_ kill you, but my earlier attempt has _upset_ some people. All you must do is not speak. You remember nothing, even if your memory comes back to you, do you understand?”

Eye wide, Lorenz nodded: he would agree to anything if Hilda was at risk. She let him go, but it did not matter: he was too weak to act.

Lorenz, regaining some sense with the sharp rush of adrenaline, eyed her coldly. Already, his attacker had revealed herself: it would make it that much easier to—

“If you are devising some noble and chivalrous plan,” Alvina threatened “—and expect to pull the wool over my eyes, consider: am I truly worth it? For one lowly Vaultier? These things are far beneath you.”

“Jericho? What does he have to do with this?”

“My, you truly have forgotten every bit. That boorish man is dead: my handiwork, too, thank you!” She praised herself.

“Jericho was—” Lorenz halted himself. _This is one of those precise moments when my noble spirit would spoil any schemes._ “Although… you are not wrong… his death will mean so very little to the broader society. Common enough that another will fill his job and rent his home. Like…”

“Like vermin. Yes. But _you_…” She pet his cheek. He grimaced, turning his head what little he could. “You are important, to your father. You’re father is important to… broader interests. One or both of your undoing would be disastrous… but Claude and Hilda, those two you play third wheel with? They are insignificant. It’s too soon, but they could be dispatched.”

She was bluffing, of course. The Empire’s plan was to remain friendly with the Alliance. Despite the battles in Gloucester, they had their first economic foothold and could prove they were capable of civility to those who were pliant. Killing Claude was off the table completely unless it came to battle, to war.

Alvina had messed that up by attacking the heir of one of their two best allies. She was sent only to appease Morley: he claimed he cared for no nation, no war effort without heirs. He wanted two little girls, one with a crest. That was her bland, boring, only job, and it had been completed. She just got so _restless._

“Lalia, where is she?”

“Ah, a head I cannot claim. _You_ killed Lalia.” The look on his face was delicious. The confusion and absolute disgust before he could think anything through. “Those lovely scars I gave you, she died patching them up. What a waste.”

“I do not believe you.”

“I don’t care!” She laughed. “I’m done babysitting for now. I’ll be walking around the estate— but I’ll be back when the healers leave: and remember! Say a word and everyone you love dies.” She clapped her hands together as if wishing him a delightful afternoon—

—Before delivering a blow to his head that would put him out a few more hours, at least.


	75. Rountable, Day 6

The streets of Derdriu were empty. The Crowds of the Council Hall were thin and disparate: gatherings remained in twos or threes as no one would risked clamoring together as they had the day before. Claude did not expect news of such a gruesome assassination attempt to spread so quickly, but nobles paid the most for information that might bear on their personal safety, and once it was out, it was everywhere. Claude waved away any questions in the lobby, making a short line to the Ready Room— Cassiopeia, Devar and Galen in tow— to wait in peace until Lysithea arrived.

He was busying himself, pretending to read important papers when she came. Only Cyril entered with her, Catherine and Shamir waiting outside as additional guard to the already six Riegan knights posted. Devar and Galen stood directly behind Lysithea where she seated herself, on high alert even concerning Great Lords and their associates.

“It’s been a long night.” She complained.

“It has. Are you okay? I heard what happened with Thyrsus.” 

“I stopped by your infirmary early this morning, and one of your healers said I would be fine. I don’t feel any different, just disturbed. I’m glad there is no Ordelia Relic I have to wield.” She twiddled her thumbs, tired. “Are you prepared to vote? Has your decision changed?”

“That’s why I asked you to come.” Claude stood up to pace. “I_ know_ Morley attacked Lorenz. And I have confirmation that at least one of the people who brought complaints against him is missing.”

“Wait, go back. How do you _know_ he attacked Lorenz? I thought there wasn’t any evidence.”

“He was at Jericho’s; Jericho was a target of Morley’s; Morley knows Lorenz is an associate of Jericho’s.”

“Right. It would be really convenient for another assassin with that information to attack and kill both of them at once. And I know you suspect Count Gloucester. I don’t think it’s possible, but if you have other suspicions you should heed them instead of jumping to conclusions.” She paused. “I know there’s something you aren’t telling everyone.”

Claude considered letting her know about the man in their holding. He declined, not sure what the mysterious Benettos would have in store.

“Morley is more ruthless than I thought; I tried to chalk his actions up to being no worse than what Gloucester, or even past Riegans have done. But—”

“But you’re taking it personally.” Lysithea sighed. “I claimed not to know much about politics, ready to follow your lead and get our of Derdriu as soon as I could. But you’re being stupid.” Her voice rose a little bit.

He didn’t argue.

“The Claude I knew at the academy was more calculating, you kept your distance from situations_ and_ people to make the best laid plans for victory... even if someone got hurt: you planned for the least casualties. You didn’t make decisions to preserve your personal interests. Now, you’re at the top of the world and you’re playing favorites.”

“How I planned and behaved in the academy doesn’t work here, that was battle, this is politics. I’m not just playing with named chess pieces anymore; there are no clear enemies and clear allies. These are my friends. My…” 

Lysithea put her hand up abruptly, recalling that both Lorenz _and_ Hilda were in Claude’s personal suite in the middle of the night.

“I don’t want to hear about any of _that._ You need to find an impartial middle ground; I don’t expect you to sacrifice or ignore your ‘_friends_,’ or disregard what happens to them, but you need to start regarding them as equal leaders. Lorenz has his own decisions to make, his own risks to take, and just because you are the Duke and one small step above him doesn’t mean you should retaliate for him on the Roundtable. _He_ wouldn’t be so reckless.”

“I know.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“… I’m going to have a little blind faith and vote for Adalius.”

“What!?” Even Cyril was shocked, despite knowing little of Alliance affairs.

“Were you listening!?” Lysithea stood, banging her hands on the heavy desk hard enough to displace an inkwell. “Why would you pick and unknown over an opponent with clear motives?! If you want to vote safe, the right vote is for Everlionne!”

“A wasted vote. And you know it.” Claude sat back down to encourage Lysithea to do the same. “Maybe if the Great Lords voted openly first, everyone would follow… but that’s precisely the reason we don’t.”

“The one fair rule we have seems unfair when you consider people voting in fear and in spite.”

“It’s only unfair now because I am a wholesome leader who can never make a wrong decision and people should follow my lead.” He said sarcastically.

“Careful.” Lysithea warned, indulging his sarcasm.

“That doesn’t seem right.” Cyril looked disturbed at Claude’s feigned corrupt ideals. “You can’t just decide you’re not wrong—”

“It was a joke Cyril.” Lysithea put a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“What do you think, Cyril?” Claude asked. They had time. Cyril had accompanied Lysithea during most of her time in Derdriu, and he was sharper than he seemed. His common sense might surprise them.

“I think if someone commits a crime, they should be tried and punished, not put in charge of running the country.” Cyril's sense was too common, as right as he was. He looked down at the desk, searching his opinions. “Things were better when Rhea was in charge.”

Lysithea wrinkled her nose.

"For the love of reason, Cyril, if you stopped talking about Lady Rhea long enough you might develop your own personality."

"I don't mean to, it's just, Lady Rhea saved me so I could even be here."

"That’s called bias. It means you’re blind to all the things she’s done wrong because you have a special interest in her."

Cyril blushed. He became ruffled, eyebrows knit together in embarassment. 

“Ya know, you don’t have to be so mean about it, or talk down at me. I don’t see you making any sacrifice, you won’t even stay on the council. Lady Rhea wasn’t perfect, but at least she took responsibility—”

“Enough!” Lysithea. “I’m not LaDy rHeA, I don’t have any power or influence or crazy cult followers to support me! This is different—! I have sacrificed— !”

Claude clapped his hands twice, hard, like he was trying to shoo two fighting cats.

“Hey, Stop! We convene in ten minutes. Go squabble in the hallway.” 

Claude didn’t fully expect them to continue; he meant to distract them. But after a serious nod, Lysithea took Cyril’s wrist and lead him out of the room while explaining the key differences between international and intranational rule, between a singular Archbishop ruling through dogma and a council ruling by law. 

Claude felt sorry for him.

_Wait. We never agreed on who to vote for._ Voting was half blind: the lower council would vote and be tallied before the Great Lords added in their weighted votes: seven votes each, to the Major Lord’s three votes and the Minor Lord’s one vote. In earnest, it only meant that votes had to be pressured and bribed and bought _outside_ of the Roundtable before it was cast. It barely worked. 

It meant Lysithea could only guess who he would vote for, but it also made Claude a tie breaker: as Duke, his eleven votes typically decided the winner in a tight race; or even in a loose one. 

He was at least confident she wouldn’t actually vote for Everlionne. He would see where the votes were being cast, and choose. 

  
* * *

The auditorium was surprisingly empty, for the same reason the city and the lobby were half-stocked. The galleries, especially, were too dark and ripe for attack; or at least for paranoia. It was a solemn event, where the day before it might have been observed with muted jeers and boos from the common attendants (who would then be removed) and the rare shout of encouragement.

Collecting the votes from the lower council Lords did not take long. Counting took longer. Ballots were placed on the Council table to prevent miscounting or corruption; it would require an effort between all the Great Lords and the vote proxies to falsify votes. Such cooperation had not been seen at a Roundtable since it’s inception. This system worked, at least.

It still took far too long to sort less than seventy votes.

After an hour of voting, sorting, and some degree of bickering over misspelling, the lower Council votes were sorted.

“The current running is as follows: Morley 27. Adalius 22. Everlionne five. Gestalt one. Six abstained.” Claude announced. The six abstained was a small form of protest, but without names tied to the votes it meant very little, and it would have no bearing on the outcomes. More votes wasted. He grit his teeth. “The Roundtable will now cast our votes.”

The Great Lord’s also voted blindly. They could split their votes, if it made any sense (it never did), but it was a rule put in place to obscure who voted for who. They dropped their ballots in the pot in unison with their candidate written on each ballot.

The attendants sorted the new votes.

Recounted the totals for each candidate.

Claude was disappointed, but he let fate decide when he chose not to chase down Lysithea and insist she vote for Adalius. He stood at the head of the table after everyone seated, reviewed the results and gave him the affirmation.

“The Roundtable welcomes Lord Rowan Edgar Morley to the Roundtable Council, with a majority at 41 votes.” Claude motioned behind him, toward the Riegan Lord's desks for Morley to approach. “A ceremony will be announced in the coming month to deposition Countess Ordelia and bestow Lord Morley with an appropriate title.”

Claude lingered over the counted votes for a moment.

_Morley: 41_   
_Adalius: 40_   
_Everlionne: 12_

It was close. 

He could insist they be recounted, and with sleight of hand make sure Adalius came out victorious, whatever the consequences.

Claude took a deep breath.

“We will now adjourn for the season until the Autumn Roundtable is announced. Dismissed.” Claude struck the gavel twice. 

Count Gloucester stormed from the table just before it landed the second time, drawing concerned looks from the Great Lords, garnering the most shock from Morley where he waited at the pulpit to shake hands with his new colleagues.

_That isn’t good._ Claude bemoaned he had to wait for Edmund to finish congratulating Morley, to offer his own personal welcome to the man who was a conspirator on Lorenz’s life. _The Count… he’s still upset about Lorenz being at the Riegan Estate. He’s headed straight there. Dammit._ Claude looked to Morley, and then to the Lord’s Hall where Count Gloucester vanished. 

The Alliance did not rest on him stroking Morley’s ego, but Lorenz’s life may very well hang in the balance if he wasted another moment not by his side.


	76. Interrogation

There seemed to be no sign, yet, of the Count on the road to the Riegan Estate. The day was clear and the road was wide; there were no tiny travelers Claude could see from Alev’s back. As soon as he landed, he was bombarded with updates on Lorenz’s health, new letters of commendation for staff, developments (or lack thereof) on the Anderton children, and various other detritus that should be filtered by a Steward… Which he had not yet assigned. 

When the crowd dissipated, one guard remained. 

“You have news for me as well?” Claude sighed.

“Yes, your grace: the red-haired man who returned Lord Gloucester to the estate is conscious. He is asking to speak with you.”

“… I’ll be there shortly. I have some other things to attend to.”

Claude retired to his room, hoping that Lorenz would miraculously wake: to advise him on dealing with both the stranger and his father. When he arrived, he found he could not bring himself to enter.

He could see Corliss was present, looking abhorrent, dozing on the couch. An attendant shook her quickly as Claude entered the room.

“Duke Riegan!” She started.

“No, don’t get up.” Claude lingered in the doorway. “Any change?”

“Y-yes, a new knot on Lord’s Lorenz’s head has emerged— good news, a sign that any additional head trauma has swelled outward, instead of inward toward the brain. He is also moving in his sleep.” She looked pleased with herself; or perhaps that she might be let off the hook sooner rather than later.

“Good. What about thyrsus?” He felt odd, asking about the relic like it was another patient. 

“No change, but it seems to be doing… something. He has only improved since Countess Lysithea placed the relic nearby.”

“I see.” Claude was reluctant to enter the room, just as reluctant to leave it. He took a step backward into the hall. “Leave your attendants here; you should find a real bed to sleep in, with my leave. Thank you Corliss.”

“Y-yes, thank you Your Grace.”

Claude left the room to pick at a sparse lunch, alone, and spent some time deciding what to ask the prisoner who may have saved Lorenz’s life.

* * *

The red-haired man sat neatly in his cell, upright and proper; despite the exhaustion that clearly burdened him, he refused to wilt in Claude’s presence. 

Claude simply watched him for a moment. The man watched him in turn, staring him down with his bloody red eyes. 

“Do you have questions?” He asked from the bench, a voice both gentle and imposing. Softer, higher than Claude expected, which was more alarming than it should have been. “You seem to believe that I will be intimidated, and that will make me cooperate. It is unnecessary: I am not fond of contention. I will answer you clearly.”

Claude was embarrassed that he was so polite and willing, content and mature enough to speak first. It made him feel like a child.

“You’re Amory.”

“I am. Lord Amory Benettos, sixth heir of Adalius.”

Claude didn’t know where to start: the casual mention that he was _sixth_ was unexpected. Adalius only claimed five children. He was more concerned with how Amory found Lorenz, how he knew to bring him to Lalia; what questions might reveal his motives. Usually Claude maintained a mind for clever sleight of speech, but he had lost his presence-of-mind. The man waited as he did before, staring him down. Claude chose a question at random under duress. 

“Did you stab him—”

“—No, on my life.”

The answer was immediate, his tone offended. It was… a start.

“How did you get Thyrsus?”

“I found it. Covered in blood, if it helps.” As promised, his answer was straightforward, and he even chose to elaborate. The cloth that Thyrsus had been wrapped in was in the infirmary; no one noticed it was blood stained, not giving it a second thought after collecting it from the scene. They could do little with the information now, but it was another clue.

“That’s Lucky. You just stumbled onto it?”

“Not luck; I could hear it. It was wrapped in cloth and kicked into a refuse heap: no one ordinary would have noticed. I presume Lorenz dropped it, as he seems to have warped. It can happen at times; losing items in the interim of travel. Especially for an inexperienced mage.”

“You saw what happened?” _And he could hear Thyrsus?_ It wasn’t unprecedented— Hilda refused to carry Freikugel for months when Holst gave it to her, confiding in Claude that she could hear it ‘whispering.’ But it was not normal. 

“Not so precisely. I was following Lorenz, at my leisure, waiting outside the Anderton House when I heard the warp. It was loud, unrefined. I saw the black-haired butler, Morven, enter the house, and run back out frantically, shouting for Lorenz. I surmised he was missing, and I was equipped to search for him.” 

“Did you see where Morven went?” He knows his name.

“He took up a horse and turned North toward Riegan Hall. After he left, I did as well, borrowing one of their horses from the hitching post.” 

_That explains the two missing horses. But not why he was following Lorenz ‘at his leisure.’_ Claude didn’t know enough about the situation himself to keep questioning him impartially. Personal irritation guided him. 

“… Why Lorenz?”

“He is noble, virtuous, handsome and talented. I spend my free time getting to know him.” He answered too plainly again. Claude had been made aware of Amory’s interest in Lorenz, but he did not expect to hear it admitted so passively.

“Getting to know him? From where, across the street?” Claude snapped. 

“Not always.”

“You’re a stalker.”

“You charge that word with jealous accusation. Did you not long for him while he was away, at home in Gloucester? I’ve seen the letters you wrote to him. Our expressions of love are not so different, to pine and long is a gorgeous affection. I merely have the disadvantage of being from a unknown house. Were my name Riegan, I might be the one keeping vigil at his bedside. I do wonder why you cannot bring yourself to look directly at him as he recovers.”

Claude fell cold. Despite all his careful efforts, Amory had been close enough to watch him, even read his own letters. Sealed letters, month old. The staff that had been purged had not caught _this_ spy; who else was missed?

“You’ve been watching me. You’re the illusionist; you’re Morven’s accomplice.” Despite his effort to display bravado, Claude took folded his arms in front of himself cautiously.

“I did aid Morven once or twice, yes. I used the Benettos spies to disseminate what information I could: I have never done anything to cause harm, only help. I am simply one of the many employed here in some patriotic capacity, supporting the House of Riegan in it’s goals to maintain the Alliance’s integrity.” Amory neglected to address Claude’s horror. “I have even remained in the cell for the majority of my stay as a gesture of good will; if you did not hate me offensively, you might find I am an amiable man. And useful.” 

“'Amiable' people don’t hide and stalk, you could have been plenty use as a confidant if you revealed yourself.”

“It is my disposition, to avoid contact. It’s messy to have your real face known, I am sure you can attest.”

Claude avoided his attempt at commiseration, leading into another round of questions.

“Tell me about Morven. Is he a spy?”

“I know little of him; I aided him under another name and a different face. We did not become close. He was useful as an unaware front for our own spies; and as many spies do, he is playing double agent around the city on occasion, More than that is not in my purview of interest.”

“What are your goals?”

“I want to watch Lorenz, and protect him: it really is so simple. Not so different than yourself, except I know a great many things you do not, stirring in the Empire with ‘Bad Lords’ in the Alliance, as you call them. I decided some months ago to weave my way closer. Lucky me when he arrived in Derdriu so conveniently.” He smiled slightly, imagining the coincidence was fate. “It seems my selfish goals have paid off. I saved Lorenz’s life. For that effort, I would ask to leave.” He was not smug, but his wording suggested Claude should be grateful. 

“I have no reason to let you leave. I should have you tried.”

“You _could_, and it would not end as you might imagine. I have more than proved my usefulness, my loyalty and my willingness to sacrifice. I have committed no crime you can evidence. Let me be.” Concern drew over Amory as he considered his next words. “I take no pride in veiled threats, but it is a reality that my family have the means to find me if I so wish. It would be inconvenient for us both.”

He wasn’t demanding; his tone suggesting he did not have a high stakes in the matter. That even the the Duke was no match for him. Worse, he was right: Claude could never get away with imprisoning a noble heir, infamous or not… and if Amory was so versed in Riegan affairs, he knew Claude feared the Benettos. It was a pathetic threat. 

Claude glowered over him for some time. He despised when all of his options were taken from him, with no strategy left to play. Angering the Benettos could only end badly, and he had no choice but to believe Amory until Morven resurfaced: if only he had more time to come up with some way to use Amory as a bargaining piece... but he didn't. With other Lords he might take the risk of slighting someone, but not Adalius. 

He tried, also, to decide if there was anything else to ask about Morven.  
  
Before Amory’s account, Claude readily believed Morven might be involved as an aggressor. He still harbored a suspicion that he would be found on the Empire’s side. _Maybe Morven’s even using this time to meet up with some contacts._ But he had nothing left to ask, and nothing on Amory besides his own disdain. The man even saved Lorenz’s life by way of his obsession. Claude beckoned the guard, and had him unlock the cell, opening it without comment. He stood to the side to make clear: Amory was free to leave.

“You are the cleverest of men, Claude. Some of us are just more powerful: an imbalance I might be willing to exploit for your benefit.”

Claude said nothing. Lorenz had warned him to make no deals with any Benettos without his counsel; yet Claude braced himself to make a hard decision if Amory proposed an alliance.

It was unwarranted; Amory’s fixation was for Lorenz alone.

“Should Lorenz wish to contact me, I can be reached with this.” He produced a small crystal they had not found on him when he was searched. Claude was wary of the Benettos power, as vague as it was, but if the crystal was what he suspected, the depth of their wealth was now it’s own threat.

“… A sending stone?”

“I am glad you are familiar with it. So you must understand it’s rarity as well. Do not misplace it.”

“All this for Lorenz?”

“You might agree he inspires a certain fervent dedication.” 

Claude didn’t want to agree, he was sick of the man and his collected demeanor.

“Please, I want to know when he is awake, if nothing else. For now, I will leave the estate for his good favor.” 

_For now._ Claude did not miss the insinuation that he would not stay away. His time to cull the servants once more would be limited.

A messenger cut through the tension with more bad news.

“My Lord, Count Gloucester has returned with a… not an army—” they stammered “—but enough people to insist on Lord Lorenz’s retrieval. Lord Oswald is being informed as well.”

“He would. I’m surprised it took him so long. Fuck.” Everything was spiraling out of his control. “Dammit, he’s not even in the infirmary.”

“Count Gloucester has not been invited in. We could move Lord Lorenz…” The messenger suggested.

“It took an hour to move him yesterday, and that was risky. We could… but he’ll still take him to Gloucester County. It would take weeks. The last place he needs to be is on the road.”_ What would Lorenz do? What would Lorenz do that I can do without making any enemies? He would belittle someone until they retreated in shame; not possible for me. Neither me or Grandpa have that sort of flair: not to challenge the Count over his own son—_

“I might be of some assistance.” Amory offered casually.

* * *

Amory was still with them as Claude moved toward the infirmary, hovering just behind. Claude had hoped he would vanish as soon as he turned his attention away. Several guards followed cautiously.

“It’s time for you to leave.” Claude rejected his aid again. “You can even have a horse from the stable, to keep.”

Amory ignored the very generous offer, continuing his reasoning. 

“I must remind you I am already on staff: your trust has been extended to me unknowingly. Even so, would you trust Count Gloucester over a stranger? You know him; the odds are I am the less precarious option. Lorenz at least is our mutual interest.”

_Don’t make deals with the Benettos_. Amory could sense Claude’s apprehension.

“I am doing this for _me_. I only need your leave to move freely.” Amory clarified.

It was the only alternative Claude had; _choosing_ something risky was preferable to letting Count Gloucester do as he pleased. He stopped in the infirmary doorway and rounded on Amory.

“What can you do?”

“I can conjure a perfect vision of Lorenz. Speak in his voice and his manner. I can put him in an infirmary bed, and reject Count Gloucester, send him away. But he cannot touch the visage: there is no substance to it.”

Claude tried to push away the horror that someone could be ‘conjured’ so simply; he already worried about the creatures who could live in other people’s bodies, now he would be tortured with the knowledge that illusions of people were possible. 

He didn’t want to allow it

He didn’t want to see some puppet of Lorenz. But Claude would have to swallow his pride…_ I’ve seen the vision of Lorenz he can conjure, that day he helped Morven. It’s a perfect copy._ He shuddered. 

“… For how long?”

“Five minutes.”

There was no alternative. It was actually the perfect solution, unbelievably convenient: flawless, except that he had to rely on Amory. 

“… Okay.” He turned to the servant. “Inform the Count Lorenz has just woke. Let him and a small retinue onto the grounds, but delay them ten minutes. We will need to be signaled just before he enters the infirmary.”

“Yes My Lord, I understand.” They hurried out. Claude walked toward the back of the infirmary.

“He was in this last bed. We’ll pull the screens around.” Claude grabbed another of the assistants. “You, bring Corliss, tell her to play along with whatever she sees, that Lorenz will seem to be here and she is to aid us in turning away the Count. _The Count cannot touch this Lorenz._ Go!”

“Huh? R-right, yes My Lord!” She ran from the building.

“I will take this bed over here, as a patient. Move the screen; I must see where I am casting.” Amory instructed. His hair colored from red to plain brown, along with his eyes. Claude was taken aback for a moment. He tried to discern if this unremarkable version of Amory resembled any of the less-distinguished staff, but to no avail. There was no time to pour over names and faces. 

“Look…” Claude started, unsure how to word his precaution without revealing too much. If Lorenz was to return to Gloucester, Amory couldn’t taint their relationship irreparably. “… don’t be too harsh with the Count. Lorenz needs to remain on good terms with him.”

“I am not such a fool.” Amory took to the bed. “Do not worry overmuch. React as you would on such an occasion that Lorenz were here himself.”

“…Right.” Claude was lightheaded; everything was happening so rapidly. _I want to go back to my room_ he pined.

Minutes passed in awkward silence, as he strained to listen for coming footsteps.

“My Lord, he is twenty yards out!” A healer rushed in the door, Corliss in tow.

* * *

It was as disturbing as Claude imagined. He fought the rising nausea with each gaze he chanced over the false Lorenz. The more he looked, the harder it was to turn away from the surreal image.

“Father? Why have your brought guards?” The specter of Lorenz rolled it's head about as if still dazed. It seemed to have all the weight, nuance of injury and fatigue. Claude tried not to stare too intensely.

“I am taking you from this wretched House, back home for proper healing. Prepare yourself.”

“Taking me? Ludicrous. I am in no condition to travel.” The vision looked to Claude, effecting confusion and distaste. “Not an ideal situation, I can admit. But when it comes time for me to return home, I would prefer to do so in splendor.”

“Nonsense; do not let your pride keep you here! You are in danger, we may protect your best at home.”

“Father, please mind your own pride: I cannot recover at home if I die on the journey. There are so many monsters between here and there. Allow me to rest a week more, at least.” The Count stepped forward as if to take him by force; Corliss moved in front of him. 

“Lord Count, we are limiting contact to prevent infection. As I told you the evening before.” She warned. 

“No, let him come: I must speak with him.” ‘Lorenz’ motioned for the Count to come closer. Claude inhaled sharply, worried the Count might take the opportunity to reach out: Amory was taking an unnecessary risk. Fortunately the Count was not an affectionate man, keeping his hands neatly by his side. He seemed more concerned Lorenz might infect him than the other way around. 

Claude could not hear what was said, but the image of Lorenz cut it’s eyes at him shrewdly. It was so very accurate it made his stomach drop. 

“Are you _certain_?” The Count uttered in shock, too loud. The false Lorenz continued speaking too low to hear. The Count leaned away, still unsatisfied, but now a vision of rage.

“Perhaps it _is_ best if you stay here— while I have such business to attend.” The Count turned on Claude, balancing his predilection for arrogance against the sense that he was speaking to the Duke. “As Lorenz is awake to make the decision himself and attest to the quality of care, I will allow him to stay. I have personal matters to see to just now.” The Count motioned for Claude to follow him from the partitioned bed, toward the exit. 

Out of the view of ‘Lorenz,’ Count Gloucester’s sense of propriety evaporated: he lost his composure to his anger, pulling Claude up by the collar. 

“Should he come to further injury, I will place the blame squarely on House Riegan, uproot your petulant leadership from Derdriu, slaughter your family near _and_ all your 'branch' houses you claim to hail from, burning your name from history if it takes my life.” The Riegan healers raised their hands to fight, the guards tipping their Halberds forward. Count Gloucester’s own guard remained at ease.

“Funny; you let him get stabbed under your roof, twice. Hold yourself to a higher standard or you might need to fall on your own sword.” Claude bared his teeth as he spoke; uncouth and beneath him, but the Count had already broken etiquette. They were near blows.

The Count shoved Claude into the bedside table, where his hand failed to catch, sending him crashing to the floor. The Riegan guards and healers surrounded the Count now, the Gloucester guard taking a defensive pose.

_I could fight him. Amory doesn’t have the time._ Claude wanted to seize the opportunity to have the Count brought up on charges and put away, finally _out_ of the way, not before rightly knocking out a tooth or two in self defense… but this was the one, the only, singular occasion he couldn’t afford it. Claude stood up to motion his own guard to stand down. They had only seconds left.

“Captain, escort the Count safely to the front gate” 

“For being reasonable, for once, I’ll let that slide. A favor. A social slap on the wrist instead of a try for treason, to facilitate our partnership on the Roundtable going forward.”

“You are only lucky I have more urgent matters at hands.” The Count was without remorse, turning on his heel without a second thought. The false Lorenz vanished just as the his cape swirled from the doorway. 

Claude turned back: Amory was already gone. 

“What did he tell the Count to make him leave…?” Claude wondered aloud, the realization setting in._ I gave him far too much power letting him use Lorenz’s image, his voice. He’s put something else into motion: he wanted to speak to the Count. I gave him his chance. He even said it aloud : ‘I’m doing this for me.'_

“What the hell just happened?” Corliss asked the stunned room. 

Claude left the present assistants to explain. Amory had vanished, and Claude needed to put eyes on the real Lorenz to assure himself he was both safe… and real.


	77. Confessions

It was late, but midsummer meant the day was still bright and hot. Such afternoons were meant to be passed in rest, staying cool: eating, bathing, laying the shade, napping. Leaving the infirmary, Claude was homesick for the reprieve that was guaranteed in the hottest hours of the day in Almyra, when everyone was too tired to quarrel in the arid heat. Even the King and Queen took to the inner gardens when the sun was high, no matter what pressing matter lay at their door. 

There was no such time in Fodlan. One disaster pressed against another at all hours of the night and day. They did not slow according to the sun, each Lord expected their grievances were the most urgent, and would bang down the doors in the middle of the night if they were not sleeping themselves. There seemed to be no mutual lull in Fodlan— it never became too hot to move, and even the frigid winters were overcome by neurotic bureaucrats— but Claude did try to make an oasis of his own room. 

It could become a place of reprieve again if only Lorenz would wake.

_Please be awake._ Claude regretted not looking over him before rushing to distract himself and confront Amory.

He expected no change.

He had no expectations anymore.

Every plan had failed as soon as he enacted it.

Claude’s hand weighed heavy on the handle of his suite. What his next move would be if Lorenz did not stir was up to fate. Morley had until Monday to produce at least one plaintiff to evidence reconcile; Claude had no recourse for the missing children, which he considered his most miserable failure. There was nothing he could do to search for the girls or stop Morley’s appointment. Not as Duke.

_Unless there was an accident._

The cruel thought did not startle him as much as it should. Claude tried to take some solace that he would not be the first Riegan to seek blood in revenge; and it wasn’t all for Lorenz, he pretended. Morley was vile and corrupted, surely he would get in the way. Eventually. There would be no reasoning with Morley; he failed once, why would he stop until the job was done? And if Morley was in the way, so was Count Gloucester. Would it not fall on Claude’s shoulders, also, to stop _him_?

While Claude plotted, mind spiraling into the string of convenient deaths that would clear his path, the handle shook under his hand. 

A healer opened the door, jumping at the sight of Claude and dropping a bowl full of used dressing.

“OH! My— Duke! Lord Lorenz is awake! I was just coming to fetch—”

Claude pushed past her without word.

When he emerged from the entryway, Lorenz turned laboriously to look to him.

“Lorenz?”

“Alive.” He coughed. “Not so well.”

Claude had never been so immediately rewarded for his hope; it was the sort of absolution he searched for all that time he spent digging in rubble for Byleth: on both occasions, not being by their side lead to death or near to it. 

Lorenz never did let him down. He even looked healthier than he should; Thyrsus close at hand, glowing ominously.

Claude ordered everyone leave, shutting Alvina and the rest out of the room, locking the door, and rushing to him. Before he could let himself fully enjoy the reunion, he had to make sure.

“I’m so sorry Lorenz.” There was a gentle press of metal against Lorenz’s throat. Claude noted the skin under his palm was real, warm: not an illusion. “Tell me something only you would know.”

“I know you are paranoid!” Lorenz rasped, but did not maintain the energy to struggle. He remembered, vaguely, Claude’s worry that he was not real; whispered to Hilda while he was caught in sleep.

“Anything.” His eyes were mad with both fear and joy. Lorenz took a deep breath, searching behind his eyelids for a moment. Everything remained hazy.

“…I dreamed about that night at the Academy. You, Hilda and I. The wine; I had almost forgotten it. It was the first time you touched me like that. Aha, then Hilda… was sick everywhere.” Lorenz looked disappointed, ragged and ready to fall back into a slumber, but it was just enough. “I heard you talking, both of you beside me. It was a comfort when I thought I might be dead.” 

Claude dropped the knife, letting out the breath he held, taking several deep breaths before he began weeping. Lorenz could do nothing to stop him, if he knew what to do anyway, and so let Claude discard his mask once more. He waited, managing only to place his hand over Claude’s. His heart broke little by little as his suspicions were confirmed: with any title, no matter his resolve, Claude was no more invincible than himself. It was uncomfortable. Lorenz had seen him as a scoundrel, a suspect, a rogue, an heir, a nuisance, a lover, and only recently, a leader; but never as another mortal man. 

“I have more, something important to tell you.” Lorenz whispered.

“Yes.” Claude begged into Lorenz’s good shoulder, where he pressed his face. “Tell me, I miss hearing your voice.”

“I have a secret I need you to keep for me.”

Lorenz wanted to tell him of Alvina; it felt traitorous not to… But Claude was not the hero he needed. The gilded leader before him was reckless if given reason. Someone to protect from his own foolishness. His superficial image of Claude, of Duke Riegan was tarnished; fitting, as the most gorgeous things in life were those objects and places worn with familiarity. Dirt paths in the garden, the lacy crackle in the finish of a teapot. Claude was familiar enough, now, that his bare, predictable flaws were a comfort. Even his tears.

“Anything.” 

“Regretfully I have not found a more precious way to reveal it… I have been preoccupied.” Lorenz tried to reach Claude’s face where it was hidden. He wanted to wipe the tears, what few he could; catch them, if he could. “I wasted much time trying to be coy, reticent even. I was naive. Drawn confessions will not wait when there are hands in the dark. Your feelings, and each sentiment behind them are reciprocated.” Claude took his hand, turning his face into Lorenz’s palm.

“Claude.” Lorenz tucked his forehead into his dark, ruffled hair. “I love you, Claude.”

Claude looked on him now, lingering tears beaded on his thick eyelashes. Lorenz’s chest caught, breath heaving now that he had time to consider his coming so near to death.

“I nearly died without telling you.”

“But you didn’t. You aren’t so careless, haha…” Claude laughed nervously, kissing Lorenz’s palm. “Hilda said… you would never be so irresponsible. To sleep for too long.”

He was apprehensive to move any closer to Lorenz, stopping just at his elbow, but eying his lips ardently. Claude ran his head under Lorenz’s hand once more.

“I need you.” Claude said.

“I’m not so frail now.”

“You are; for what I want. I need you so badly, inside and out.” Claude let out a long sigh. “It’s so selfish. There’s so much else… but in this room. There’s nothing but you. Even when I’m alone.”

Lorenz was overcome with a rush of warmth at the thought.  
  
“You can kiss me, at least. To sate you a while longer.” Lorenz invited. Claude leaned down, barely pressing his lips to Lorenz’s forehead. “We can draw out rumors of my injury. Keep me here long as you like.” He teased when Claude pulled away. It wasn’t possible; there was much that needed to be done. But for a moment, they pretended.

  
* * *

  
“What do you remember?” Claude asked, half-stripped and stretched out by Lorenz’s side to take in the cool press of his skin.

“Hmn. I recall the morning, in the ready room I advised you. We went about the city, as not to visit Jericho too early, but after that I am at a loss. If I ever made it to Jericho’s home is beyond the scope of my memory. I woke in Gloucester Hall, and spoke with my father, but it is hazy as well.” He stared intently at the ceiling for a moment, struggling to recollect. “Morven and Leonie were with me, were they not?”

“Leonie filled us in on what she remembered. You _did_ make it to Jericho’s house. She only remembers ascending the stairs to the library; what happened after that is a mystery. She was knocked out or fainted, and suffered a shorter term memory loss than you did. Jericho was found dead at his desk.”

“I see. And Morven?”

“… Morven is missing. His horse and Leonie’s horses were gone; one of them stolen by Amory when he searched for you.” Claude was taken aback by Lorenz’s lack of reaction to Jericho’s death.

“…Amory?!”

“Yep…. He… He’s the one who brought you back to Reigan Estate. If he hadn’t found you at the right moment, warped you, and found Lalia on the front walk, you…”

They let the gravity of Lorenz’s luck sink in, each running through their own version of events as they transpired. Claude remembered the sending stone... he did not think now was the time. It stayed put up somewhere distant in the estate, wrapped and locked, so that it could not be used to listen in.

“I would prefer not to consider what terrible fate I narrowly avoided…” Lorenz concluded. “Ah, but I do remember, bizarrely, knocking a cup of tea away from Jericho: it seemed so imperative that it truly stuck with me. The tea was already poured… it had cooled. That silly mock lecture you held about poison so long ago, do you remember it?” 

“That wasn’t a joke, but go on.” Claude leaned up, brushing is knuckle along the new scar on Lorenz’s left temple. It was still tender, but his light graze was oddly soothing. 

“I remember… you said some were heat deactivated. All at once I realized cold tea might be necessary for some plot.”

“That’s good— that’s something. We need to know who served the tea. Can you recall anything else at all?”

“I do not remember any more than that.”

Lorenz felt wretched, but he wasn’t lying. He could remember nothing of Alvina, and with the wounds of his head, it was unlikely he ever would. Had Alvina not informed him, he would be content in knowing he survived and ready to put it behind him. _A second sloppy mistake. A poor assassin and a poorer maid. I will take pleasure in dispatching her._

“You look angry.” Claude let the back of his hand stroke along Lorenz’s jaw. 

“I am only angry with myself, that is all…The children, have they been found?”

Claude thought it best to dispense bad news piece by piece. He only managed to shake his head: too guilty to reveal he put them off. He wanted to tell him what transpired with Amory, but it would wait for now.

Worse, he still had not devised how to tell him about Lalia; he was more surprised Lorenz did not ask after her immediately. 

But thankful.

Before Lorenz could protest his negligence, Alvina banged on the door for the _third_ time. 

_Nervous I am talking,_ Lorenz surmised huffing at the interruption.

“My Lord, Duke, you have a visitor!” Alvina chimed in agitation. “And Corliss insists she see to Lorenz once more!”

Claude echoed Lorenz’s dissatisfied huff.

“Maybe it’s time to go back to real life.” He whispered, calm and unwilling to answer the knock. “Maybe they can wait another week—” he turned into another kiss—

“CLAUDE!” Hilda shouted. “I know he’s awake, stop fooling around and let me IN!”

Claude Laughed into Lorenz’s mouth as Lorenz jerked, growing clammy and nervous when Hilda announced they were _involved_ to everyone in earshot.

At last, Claude let go, taking the room in slow steps as he regained his shirt and jacket. When he opened the door, Hilda burst through like a lost puppy.

“Lorenz!” Hilda ran into the bed, jumping into it to make her way to Lorenz’s side. “You’re awake!” 

“No finer sight to greet me than the darling pink rose of Goneril.” Lorenz cooed over her, still lost in his romantic notions to think better of flirting so soon after confessing his love for Claude. He looked around, confused.

“However, were you not returning to Goneril?” Lorenz worried something more had transpired while he slept to keep Hilda in Derdriu. “Not that I am disappointed.” 

Lorenz lingered over the attempt on his life that nearly robbed him of his chance to confess to Claude. Hilda was just before him; it made too perfect sense to let Hilda know how he felt… but in his love for Claude being recognized, he realized his feelings for Hilda, though passionate and deep, were yet half-formed. In truth, he could finally admit he did not know her, except for their time in class and the fantasies in his mind.

_I do not plan on being caught off guard again so soon. There is always time._

“I was supposed to be heading back last night, but I wasn’t willing to leave before you woke up.” Hilda answered. “Father and I had it out really nasty last night. But I won!” 

“I am sorry to have put you through such strife; please, do not endure such quarreling on my account.”

“Nah, we fight _allll_ the time.” Hilda slid off the bed to stand by Lorenz’s side, Claude joining her. “Oh that’s right!”

Hilda removed the Deer Key from her pocket and set it on Lorenz’s chest, with a menacing smile she must have picked up from Claude. 

“Here you go, _Lorenz_. Your key back.”

“That isn’t… I mean it _is_ mine—” Lorenz admitted, not willing to offend Claude and lose his key a third time. “I am borrowing it. Just while I am in Riegan.” He continued to stutter.

“No, you can keep it when you go home. Think of it as memento…” Claude said with a deep, intimate draw. “A promise to return.”

“Aww…It seems like I’ve interrupted something again.” Hilda said nervously.

“A little—”

“Not at all—!” Claude and Lorenz answered at once. 

“It doesn’t matter, I’m leaving anyway.” She stood on tip toes to kiss Claude goodbye on the cheek as he stared longingly at Lorenz. She offered the same Lorenz: he did not look away from her, only batting his eyes politely when she planted her lips on his cheek.

When she drew away, she saw it: the look in his gaze she always wanted from Claude. 

Lorenz was infatuated with her, romantically, desperately. She drew back in shock, chills coating her shoulders like they when he whispered in her ear at the feast.

“Hilda. Travel safely… and please think of me— f-for my recovery.” Lorenz asked quietly; his words made it clear he ached, and not from his wounds.  
  
Hilda couldn’t think of anything to say. Despite her prior indifference, she didn’t want to leave them alone anymore, to leave Claude and Lorenz to each other. Something had changed and she was left out of it.

But there was nothing to do about it, the carriage outside waiting to take her away.

“Will do! Until next time, boys!” She declared awkwardly, before crossing the room just under a run and slamming the door in haste.

  
* * *

  
Hilda grabbed Nasira from where she waited in the hall and ran all the way to the carriages waiting out front: brought from their Derdriu home for the long journey back to Goneril. Eyes down, hands worrying, she tried to get into the carriage with Nasira before anyone could see her.

Holst missed nothing. 

He preferred to ride his own horse, especially through summer sunsets, but could not miss Hilda’s pink-rimmed eyes. She huffed, annoyed, when he clambered into the carriage next to her: too tall and too clumsy, she thought, to sit with ladies. Nasira didn’t seem to mind, and Hilda hoped she might distract him. 

“What has he done?” Holst demanded, ignoring Nasira’s hungry stare from across the carriage. “It’s Claude, isn’t it? It’s always Claude.”

“It’s not_ always_ Claude!” She snapped. “It’s nothing!”

“Hilda, he isn’t good enough for you.”

“Nch! I know! You never stop telling me!” Hilda moved to the other side of the seat to stare out the window, putting Holst as far away as possible as the carriage began moving.  
  
“You’ve only put two feet distance between us. I can still see you.”

“Yeah, well I can’t _hear_ you.”

“Nasira, help me.” Holst begged.

“It’s not to my benefit to interfere in the quarrel of siblings.” She turned her head sharply to stare out her own window. Holst leaned in close to her.

“_Always so insolent. Ten years of it, do you think I will let you get away with it much longer_?” He teased in a whisper; Nasira perked and blushed, but would not look at him.

“Ew, could you not?!” Hilda cried.

“So you can hear me?”

“Ooohf! You make me so MAD! What do you want to say Holst— give me the lecture, I’m sure it hasn’t changed! I can even recite it for you if you want to keep flirting!”

“The lecture where I am worried about you, do that one.” He slid down the seat, in front of her once more. “Hilda, I am not father. I know it’s difficult, and has been difficult for you in a way I can only observe from from an eight year distance; I only care about what you want, and your dashing yourself recklessly against Claude’s foreign brand of ‘friendship’ is harming you.” He reached across the carriage to take her hand.

“… Keep going.” She relented.

“I think… it’s time you looked to other’s for your companionship. I understand that at a time, Claude was what you needed for your… goals of autonomy, but now you are fixated. There are plenty of fine, eligible men in Derdriu.” He lectured. If she did not choose, somehow their parents would force her hand or try to trick her again. He would champion her marriage to anyone to prevent their further meddling. “Women even. What about Marianne? Don’t you like her?”

Hilda regretted ever being earnest with him: he used it against her everyday to make her face uncomfortable issues. 

“There aren’t any suitable _men_…” Hilda wanted to be right, and she wanted to be mad, but Lorenz’s desperate gaze returned to her thoughts. “…Well, maybe one.”

“Oh? You haven’t told me of any new suitors.”

“He’s not a suitor! And I’m not going to!”

“That’s fine— just promise me you will not measure him against _Claude_." Holst only ever said his name with disgust. "A Husband will never compare to a best friend, if you insist on calling him that. No Lord will compare to a Duke. You aren’t being fair.”

“Oh, stop talking! I am comparing him to Claude, and so far he’s coming up better.” Hilda could kick herself; Holst always got her going.

“… _Now_ I’m too curious. And I have you cornered for several hours.” Holst brightened in mood, hovering nearer to Hilda now, nearly crawling on top of her. “Hints. What color are his eyes? How many siblings? Please tell me it’s not a commoner at minimum—”

Nasira placed her hand neatly on his chest.

“You are going too far.” She discouraged him. The way Hilda left Claude’s room flustered earlier could only be Lorenz’s doing; she never became upset with Claude in such a way. Nasira already knew; in her newfound friendship with Hilda, she felt some protectiveness for the girl. She hoped to become her sister in the future; she should act like it now.  
  
“So _you_ know?” He said accusingly, ready to interrogate and bribe her.

“I have only guessed. It is on my honor as a maid and a woman not to tell.”

Holst gave it up at last, owing to the seriousness in Nasira’s voice. He leaned back, now regretful that he did not take his horse. _It’s going to drive me crazy._ He ran through his mind every letter Hilda had ever sent him, who she wrote of, and how. _She said it’s a man… but was she also implying he was from Derdriu?_ She wrote of so many people in her exhaustive letters, myriad names came up: Claude was off limits due to the _incident_, Holst forbade her from writing about him as a topic.

_Hmm… Raphael and Ignatz are the only men from Derdriu proper. Lorenz has always been a particular nuisance. She wrote of so many men though: Sylvain Gautier, Felix Fraldarius, Cyril. That one from the sewers. And Balthus— not Balthus. Where is he, even? Caspar von Bergliez and Ferdinand von Aegir are Edelgard’s men; out of the question. What if it is no one I know of?_  
  
Holst felt a little obsessive remembering such a list, but he had marked down who to intimidate if it became necessary, as precaution. He decided, instead, to concern himself with his own intimate affairs; content to watch Nasira doze by the window in the late afternoon golden light as they made their way home.   



	78. Morven

Claude and Lorenz spent their evening quietly, avoiding anymore talk of the world outside. Lorenz never asked about Lalia, and Claude did not know what to tell him. He left it.

He passed the night, dutifully, on the lounge in the far corner of his room as the healers maintained watch: skeptical of Lorenz’s too-rapid recovery. Claude was sure their affair was no secret in the Estate, but sleeping side by side with witness was too far. As long as no one saw them directly engaged in the rumored affair, they could always deny it. Anyone who noticed Lorenz coming into Claude’s room at two in the morning the week before could have been dreaming; anyone who heard the cries of pleasure from the bath nights ago surely misheard the call of some nocturnal bird. Claude kept Lorenz in his room as a security measure, nothing more. When Claude ordered everyone out and locked the door behind him, they had Alliance matters to discuss.

Obviously.

Still, in the moments that the room was empty, Claude would check on Lorenz himself, every few hours: he never fell full asleep, but even in the sparse interim when he did, he woke when the healers were absent. He felt giddy and foolish each time he crept to the bed, to stand and watch for a few minutes.

He was still breathing.

* * *

The next morning, Lorenz waited— blessedly— in Claude’s locked room: one Deer Key in his pocket, and the other in Claude’s, somewhere else in the Estate while he was managing the staff. Alvina could not come and go as she pleased for the time; he rested a little easier knowing she was kept at bay by the expert lock mechanism. She only managed to slither in when he opened the door for Corliss to check on him from time to time (and insist he stay prone).

Thyrsus he kept near him and against him whenever possible: drawing energy from it. Lorenz could not heal himself— it wasn’t possible— but the cursed staff did enough just by providing excess energy. If he knew less of how staffs worked, he would say it was healing him: all the excess energy could not mend, only strengthen the body. Hour by hour through the night, however, the ache of his head, shoulder and chest dulled more and more.

Too mentally spent to wonder about the implications, Lorenz surmised it was an effect of it being a relic, and thought no more of it.

He did concern himself with Thyrsus’s… behavior: how Lysithea became trapped by it’s draw on her. He worried that it could have taken years from her body, damage done in some irreparable way yet unseen. Lorenz vowed to explore that possibility next he saw her, and turn the staff back on her to repair any harm that might be done. _I will need to study white magic much longer before I am capable, however. It is on my honor for her kindness. _

It reminded him why he began to study White Magic at all. Lorenz would often torment himself with the regret that, had he known white magic, maybe at the battle of Garreg Mach he would have found reason to turn back and search for the Professor. Without the possibility of healing her, he did not waste time searching, running away from the battle like everyone else: prioritizing his classmates safe retreat. So far he had yet to forgive himself for running, his capture, or for being traded out to his father like a useless child instead of an enemy knight. Lorenz wished he had done something brave enough to at least warrant Edelgard’s spite: instead she treated him like a student. A mere pawn, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, a piece for the church, too privileged to be cut down like the common knights her people did not distinguish. Worse is that he did not entirely disagree: he _was_ a pawn. He had been helpless.

Being alone was never pleasant. He struggled to be kind to himself most in times of abject failure.

Except now, he was not alone: he was replete in everything _Claude_. He turned his face into the pillows and blankets— capable now of twisting slightly despite his injury. Taking deep breaths, he willed himself back to sleep, although he was no longer tired: only restless. He wanted to daydream at least, replay his reunion with Claude instead of reliving the battle at Garreg Mach. Or the battles in Gloucester. Or few moments of attack he could recall from two days prior.

“My Lord! It is time for breakfast!” Alvina’s voice carried through the door. “I have a tray for you, let me in please.”

He stayed still and silent, feigning sleep.

“Lord Lorenz! Claude will be distressed to know you are not eating to regain your strength! What would _Hilda_ think, rejecting food like a child?” She dropped Hilda’s name whenever she wanted to talk, to push him. She could only say so much with guards about.

“I have already taken breakfast, and I am to stay reclined! Please return at lunch!” Lorenz despised yelling, but he would play his part as the invalid who could barely cross to the door. Silence met him, and he heard the maid stomping away. _She believes I am going to remember anything. I am not so sure._ He touched the scar across his temple. _I wonder if Lalia can fix this…_ He caught himself. Lalia was dead. It must be true, otherwise she would be here. Lalia would only abandon him for the cold comfort of a grave.

More curious was why Claude had not yet told him… but he couldn’t fault him, acting Duke, now balancing personal and national affairs, yet still with only one mind and body to contribute. Claude would always be divided. 

Lorenz turned deeper into the gold sheets, inhaling deeply.

_Claude. He is mine only for a moment. How long will I be so blessed to find myself wrapped in his fervid embrace? His lovely, golden arms tight in keeping, giving me excuse to linger as if captured... could I be a such a willing captive for decades, it would not be enough-_

Lorenz jolted from his romantic stupor.

“Foolish man! You are in danger and plenty capable!” He chastised himself for wallowing: not just now, in his injury, but since he arrived in Derdriu. He set upright, holding Thyrsus in front of him. “Give me more power. Goddess knows you were hungry for blood when my father sent you with me to Garreg Mach. This time I am sure of my target. There is no time to waste!”

Nothing happened.

The same phantom pulse ebbed under his fingertips, but only the soft pull of healing continued. Perhaps some things could not be rushed. Though some words seemed to rile and stir the magic in the staff, it felt almost… sleepy, for the time being.

With nothing else to be done, he returned to pillow, synthesizing in his mind a new spell meant just for Alvina. 

  
* * *

Morven stepped into Morley’s office. Deemed ‘missing’ by House Riegan, he now had a little time to deal with his own affairs; those double-agent duties he carried out when in Claude’s good graces. Such tasks now required undue caution since he made such a fool of himself over Lord Lorenz… and was discovered as a counterfeiter at least and suspected as an illusionist. Having failed in protecting Lorenz, he was likely a suspect: Morven doubted he would be welcomed to return as things stood. 

Much as he would prefer to wait by Lorenz’s bedside for the would-be assassin, Morven prowled across Morley’s office. Whatever hired halfwit sank the dagger into Lorenz Gloucester’s belly, Morley was the originator of the plot. It would be easy, vilifying to kill him without word or warning. But he needed the name of whatever hand was on the hilt.

Morley leaned over his desk, pallid and hollow against his many lavish, gilded trappings. None of his wealth could make him less mortal.

“Emory, thank the Goddess.” Morley waved him in from his desk, scattered with papers. “I have narrowly outmaneuvered that damned trial, and secured the vote for seat Ordelia, but my troubles persist. Please, I have a Maid— Alvina. An ‘assistant’ sent from my benefactors: she is entirely out of hand. I need you to watch her, use your position in House Riegan to monitor her.”

“Do you think I come here to play lapdog for you? Buy me for it.” To know Alvina was Morley’s put Morven on edge. _Was it her?_

“Of course, the usual or more.”

“More. Something interesting. I will give you a moment to consider.” He negotiated, then turned to the job at hand. “… Alvina is one of yours?”

“Yes. I only asked her to dispatch Jericho— that psychotic bitch attacked the Gloucesters! _She_ might be largely invulnerable, but that does not make me immune to their wrath!”

Every muscle in Morven’s body raged briefly, demanding he rush to the estate: but there was still more information to gain. Neglecting that could jeopardize lives just as surely as a rogue assassin. He already knew that House Benettos made a bid for the Roundtable seat… but bribed and blackmailed votes for Morley. What they had to do with Morley and the Empire was still unclear, but the web of information he was piecing together revealed complex and disturbing alliances. He had his hypothesis, but they were always best confirmed. This was information no one else could gather for him.

“I see. What are you going to give me for it?”

“_This_.” He motioned to a hefty chest that set on his desk: not too large to carry alone, but large enough to be enticing. “I seized it from one of my other vaultiers— left to him by Jericho. Said he was supposed to deliver it on Jericho’s death, to Lord Lorenz or Lord Claude. It is an assortment of Benettos belongings— highly valuable, I assume; you can use it to bargain with them, or gain their favor for returning it.”

“Giving me stolen goods from their vault? Does that not put you in the same uncertain danger?”

“They already know the vaults have been compromised, items stolen. I told Adalius before I found _this_: in their eyes, it is still missing. He laughed at me— It can’t be important. I don’t know who is mentally sound anymore. It doesn’t matter. I know too little about the Benettos, but I know exactly what will happen should the Count trace Nirna back to me—”

“Nirna?”

“Nirna— Alvina— Whatever her damned name is for now! Switching out people’s faces like that— repulsive!”

“… Tell me more. Of the Benettos— what are your ties? Why are you doing them favors?”

“They do favors in turn— a stupid question. And not part of your job.”

“They are involved in my pay, it would seem. Elaborate, please. I would remind you that I may not be of a powerful house, but my immediate presence is a bodily threat to you more than any Lord.” Morley scowled, taking Morven’s threat too lightly. His moneyed position had made him heedless.

“There are two little girls: both with crests. I need them. The Benettos can help me with that goal: with crests and heirs. In turn, I fund whatever it is they do— I’m not interested. We have agreed to not interfere with the other’s bid for the Roundtable seat. That is all.” 

“I see.” He knew that much already, it was useless. The information intimated nothing of why the Benettos would buy votes for Morley. It seemed he might be unaware. “And the Empire’s role?”

Morley ceased his undignified ruffling of papers. He stood up straight to face Morven, finally.

“I do not know what you are talking about. Whatever _economic_ ties Adalius Benettos and Charlton Gloucester have with the Empire, I am left out of it.” 

Morven stared him down, giving him a chance to confess.

“And you benefactors? Strange, for someone who has so little to do with the Empire, the mercenaries you are trying to adapt to Knights all happen to hail from Adrestia.” Morley coiled more tightly, clenching his jaw at this accusation. That was confirmation enough, and so Morven changed the subject. “The maid. What are her plans? How does she fight?”

Morley took another moment to consider him, before answering plainly.

“She does that spy nonsense. Knives. Very minor Illusion, but precise— only for disguise. She is too tough to kill: send her back _without_ conflict, and take her place monitoring Lord Lorenz for compliance.”

“Compliance?” Morven wanted to hear him say it.

“That he does not speak a word of his attacker, or his suspicions of me! She’s probably running about the Riegan Estate already, I haven’t seen her since I scolded her on the day of the attack.”

Morven _could_ kill him now. Leave him for someone else to find. It would implicate many people; Adalius, any Lord who voted against Morley at the Roundtable, the families of the missing plaintiffs; or the ones he paid off and was stupid enough to leave alive. But no one would ever know it was him. 

It was too simple, too clean and without poetic justice. He did not believe Lorenz would enjoy having a direct hand in Morley’s death— Claude might— but all the same he thought Lorenz was entitled to at least have his say. And it was always better to have the death of a Major Lord, a Great Lord now, occur under public scrutiny. Assassinations had consequences; in the search for the culprit, too often sensitive information was uncovered and disseminated.

There were better ways to make him suffer. Morven returned to the conversation, deciding on the long game.

“Hmm… It might take some time— you know I am missing just now.” He made the job seem a hassle. “And what of the Maid Alvina who I knew to be earnest, before this usurper?” Morven gambled.

“Put up— Nirna’s foreign magic needs replenishing from time to time. What does it matter?”

“A bargaining chip: Duke Riegan is very fond of her. Ensure she is kept alive.” Morven was relieved to know, at least, this was not the same Alvina that had been present for more than a year in the Estate. It was recent.

“Tell that to the false maid— she does not care for reason!” 

Morven weighed his options: return to Riegan Estate within the coming hours, but he would be questioned on returning unscathed. _If I wait, I would need to trust in Claude’s paranoid disposition to protect Lorenz for now… But “Alvina”… she is close to Claude. If I can keep my position without suspicion, I can remain closer to House Riegan… No. No, it’s not worth the risk. I can explain later._

Morven resolved himself to deal with the matter immediately.

“I will watch this maid for you. Have the chest delivered to the Snapdragon Inn. Care of Emory Vulpes. I need a wyvern.”

“A wyvern? How do you hope to explain a wyvern while you have been away missing—”

“I have no time to waste. A Wyvern. Now.”


	79. Willing

Claude’s room was empty— Lorenz was sure of it._ Duke Riegan_ was busy elsewhere: scouring and culling the staff again, seeking a steward, and handing out promotions. No one entered when Corliss left from fussing over him… and yet a floorboard creaked in the entryway of the room. Not the snap of old age settling, but a labored groan under the rolling press of someone’s heel. Lorenz did not react, shifting to his side on the bed as though unawares to keep listening. He pressed his left hand against Thrysus’s crest stone underneath the blankets, prepared to set the room ablaze; his casting hand grew warm against his chest. 

A weight settled on the bed behind him.

He threw his arm back, letting loose a sharp and focused firebolt. 

A Fraldarius Crest flared before him, accompanied by some force batting his arm out of the way. The fire was sent to crash against the wall behind Claude’s dresser. 

“Wait!” A familiar voicehissed from the nothing.

Morven was suddenly before him. He pulled Lorenz up by his arm before remembering his injury, but Lorenz did not flinch.

“It is only me!” 

“_Only_ you? Come to threaten me as well? I have been well coerced to silence by your associate, there was no need to send someone else.” Lorenz tested him, pulling the fire from the far wall before it could spread. “That is a cheap magic trick you have, a practice for cowards. Repulsive.”

Banging on the door cut through the room.

“Lord Lorenz?! Is everything alright My Lord?” A guard demanded, perfectly capable of smashing through the lock if necessary.

Morven put his finger to his lips, asking for Lorenz’s confidence.

“…I dropped something, do not concern yourself!” The guard apologized and left it at that. The tension between Lorenz and Morven was broken: Lorenz chose once again to trust him against his sense of self-preservation.

Morven was grateful he thought better of his original plan: to come crashing into Riegan Estate, slinging his axe and throwing lightening without explanation. After his head cooled on the flight, he instead made a wide detour to land in a nearby forest and make his way on foot. As much as he romanticized the idea of coming to Lorenz’s rescue at the last final moment, in reality he would only endanger everyone. 

And this intimate meeting was more be more preferable.

“Who is this associate you speak of?” Morven released him carefully.

“I cannot tell you. She has threatened Claude and Hilda.”

“Ah, so it is a woman.” Lorenz drew his breath in sharply, distressed he let even that fact loose. “I know it was Alvina. I have come to turn that foul creature inside out, rest assured.” He informed Lorenz; a cautious relief spreading over the graceful Lord. “I only wanted to see you before I was possibly put to questioning and death for murdering a maid, but to know you are aware of her treachery means there is hope yet for my absolution.”

“If only it were so easy. I loathe to stop you, but I must. Should you fail…”

“She will not kill Claude; and fortunate for you I prize your life over Lady Hilda’s. You won’t stop me trying, as long as she breaths she may change her mind and kill _you_. Her handler believes as much and so we must act with haste.”

Lorenz seized his arm, stronger than he should be. Morven noted Thyrsus glowing beneath the blankets.

“I said No. I will kill her by my own hand, I want her to suffer, I want to ensure her death personally.” Lorenz was determined, an icy and empty vengeance rimming his voice.

“Ah, so this is about revenge. I did not think you so egotistical, but you are a true Gloucester down to the rage.”

“This is not revenge for her failure to kill me: it is for her threat against my friends. I want her to feel every degree of her mistake in underestimating me for fear of my father, down to her bones.”

Morven considered him for a moment. It would be much easier to kill Alvina outright than to accommodate Lorenz’s vengefulness… but he had been warned of her strength. And he did crave to see such an unbridled Lord Lorenz set on someone vile, to know him a little better.

“I am willing to follow your lead, my Lord: we should find a more assured success together. But now I am in a difficult position… I should be missing. Do you not distrust me? Wonder where I’ve been? I’m a spy before anything else.”

“I would choose you over Alvina, whatever the circumstance.”

“Still foolish. Your rage is blinding you.” Morven could not help himself. He wanted more of Lorenz’s confidence, his trust unquestioning: not only when measured against a true villain, but as himself. “You are too earnest, you suspect nothing of me at all? I think you would have learned the first time to question my intentions.” He grinned widely, trying to prod him into questioning: he wanted to be tried and found innocent. 

Lorenz released his arm to seize him by the chin.

“I would not expect you to make that mistake again. You are willing to serve, is that not what you said? I maintained my calm for Claude’s sake, but you can help me temper my fury as you did on the training ground. I do not care anymore what secrets you are hiding: they are pitiful compared to my bloodlust. You are expendable to me, and your secrets.” His voice hitched on the last line: Lorenz meant it to sound ruthless, but could not put force behind such cruelty.

Morven found it tantalizing.

“Of course, I will serve gladly as expendable to help the noble House of Lorenz Gloucester. I require payment, however.” Morven put faux disdain into his words, distanced himself slowly where he began to drift longingly toward the unbridled young Lord. His own confessions could wait.

“I am returning to Gloucester soon, all it’s wealth at my disposal. You can have whatever you want of payment.”

“I want to come with you. Lalia has died; you need someone else to comb your hair and bathe you, protecting you all the while. Claude certainly will not.”

“Lalia…” Lorenz had avoided thinking about her; it was difficult to consider her dead. It felt more like she was missing. On a mission. Somewhere _else_, but being dead would be negligent and that was unlike her.

For a moment, Morven expected Lorenz to soften in memoriam, but his features only sharpened in anger. 

“I will bathe myself, but the rest is negotiable. That wretched slattern will suffer in ways never conceived before.”

“Of course my Lord.” Morven purred. “I will arrange to be ‘found’ washed up in a canal, brutalized by some vagrants of your attackers. For an alibi. Then we can wait out your recovery, and plan.”

“Do whatever you must, but hurry, I—” Lorenz darkened at the coming admission. “Do not leave me alone with her too long. I am recovering rapidly, and I am not so sure I can hold my temper. Make sure you are found immediately.”

“Today, then. I will ensure I am found.” Morven took his hand, eager to comfort. Lorenz did not resist, but was not impressed by his affection. “I need you only to open the door.”

Morven vanished, slipping by as Lorenz requested a pot of unwanted tea from a nearby maid.

  
* * *

Claude called the planning meeting to it’s conclusion, early. He had enough new names to remember for one day, and his Grandfather’s coughing was becoming more disruptive. Oswald offered him valuable insight into the running of a House, advised on who might flourish best in what position now that they had to spread their current employ so thin: an area Claude neglected in favor of martial training and tactical intrigue. He needed his grandfather’s help… if only he would stop assuring him it would be much easier when he found a wife to take the mantle, continuously mentioning Hilda offhand.

The news reached him just after: Morven was found in a canal, beaten and bloodied. Claude thought it might be enough that his absence could be excused… if what he said aligned with Leonie, and measured up against Amory’s account or disproved it beyond the shadow of a doubt. Morven was now being be brought from Derdriu to the Riegan Estate under guard.

That gave Claude plenty of time to return to Lorenz, his afternoon reprieve. He rushed up to his room, eager to pretend this would be his future, his new normal: Lorenz always in walking distance, waiting just as eagerly. 

He found the door unlocked, Alvina trying to plainly force feed Lorenz some bland porridge.

“Am. Am I interrupting? Something?” He asked in mixed confusion and amusement.

The relief on Lorenz’s face was cut with dread.

“Not at all— bid your maid leave me.” He demanded. “I told her I have eaten already, but she is deathly afraid you might blame her should my health fail.” Lorenz made it up on the spot. He had to let her into the room at last as she grew more restive, more hostile as he kept her out. As punishment, Alvina had been toying with him, cruelly, telling him all the ways in which she might torture Hilda should his tongue slip: all the while humiliating him with his ‘meal,’ daring him to react. No matter how he insisted that his memory had not returned, she carried on to her delight, only to watch him squirm.

“Alvina, I know you’re trying to do right now that you have more responsibility… but really?”

“I am sorry my Lord, but Lorenz has turned me away at every meal.” She effectuated her child-like voice, mocking dutiful concern. “I was deeply worried. Please see that he eats.”

“Pfft haha! I will. You can have the afternoon and evening off.”

“Too kind of you my Lord— but perhaps_ you_ should take the evening? I can continue to care for Lorenz—”

“Alvina.”

“Y-yes, Lord Duke, pardon me!” She cleaned up Lorenz, taking the bowl and scurrying out like the rat she was.

Lorenz’s disdain was plain on his face, making his sharp features almost ugly: severe enough to call it hatred.

“Lorenz?” Claude approached the bed, fanning his fingers over the tousled blankets. “Are you… okay?”

He snapped to attention, relaxing his features at once, regaining the necessary grace to complement his fox-like face.

“It is nothing. Come, I have been terribly chill all afternoon.”

“Is that a joke, or should I get Corliss? You could have a fever—”

“Do not worry over my attempts to beg for your company.” Lorenz sighed. He stood and stretched while Claude hesitated, sick of the bed and weary of pretending ill. He felt fine.

“Whoa! Should you—” Claude rushed to him, pressing his hand over the worst wound. “Should you stretch like that?!” 

“Thyrsus has repaired me considerably.”

“No, that’s bullshit. You’re rushing it, like I did my leg: and it _hurt_. It splintered each time I took a step and I pretended not to feel it.” Claude cornered him: but Lorenz felt nothing of the sort. He could not explain it; such rapid healing with no healer would bear much study at some other, less critical time.

“This and that are different: Thyrsus and I… I think the relic is healing me, and I would surmise we have a high affinity. It’s been with me for years now.”

“‘_We_’? You and the _thing_? That’s not normal or possible. Sit down.”

Lorenz did as he was told. Despite his very healthy complexion, his eyes were still ringed with dark circles.

“_Have_ you eaten?”

“… No.” 

“Kchk! Really, I though Alvina was being unreasonable, but she was right!” Claude braced his shoulders as if to put him back to bed.

Lorenz would not have it. He leaned heavily into Claude, resting his forehead just at Claude’s collar. 

“Not yet. I am tired of laying.” Finally, Lorenz’s shoulders bowed, relaxing into Claude’s hold on him. He brought his hands up to cling onto the sash across Claude’s waist. “Tell some good news. Has Morven been found?”

“… Yeah, actually. I was gonna tell you over a meal.”

“Good.”

“Why ’good?’ He might be your attacker!” Claude didn’t bother to hide his envy.

Lorenz had no immediate answer, unless willing to tell Claude the truth: he was waiting on Morven to come take the brunt of Alvina’s fury. He felt dearly remorseful now, telling Morven he could die for his own ends. The guilt hurt him more than any ache that remained in his side: he was just like his father. 

Fortunately he had become accustom to polite lies. Claude was not suspect of his brief pause.

“I am eager to know what happened to me. I only hope, friend or foe, he can clarify the situation. Nothing more.” Lorenz sighed again. “Please, do not make me eat yet: I have no appetite after being force fed. Stay here for a moment. Please.”

His gentle begging was all it took: Claude couldn’t fight him. He removed his ornaments and overcoat, taking to the bed as asked. Lorenz curled his head over Claude’s chest, his long back bent over to seek the comfort of Claude’s beating heart.

“Promise me I can at least eat in the dining hall like a Lord.” Lorenz asked dryly.

“Sure. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

“Let us not come to that.”

“… Are you really healed ‘right’?”

Lorenz groaned at the questioning. He rolled his head back: Claude could just see his brows, lashes arching from beneath them as he rested his eyes.

“No. There is still some nagging pain in my side.” He would let Claude be right, have this small victory. “It is just as you said, to heal this fast is unnatural. I should be dead; a dull ache is to be expected in exchange for such a miracle. What has it been? Two days?”

Claude tried to believe he _wasn’t_ tearing apart up some half-healed tissue inside by moving too quickly, but he couldn’t be convinced.

“You know, my leg is still set wrong. It doesn't hurt at all, but I can feel it. Not like it was before. A fraction to the left, and there’s a knot that never went away.”

“… Healing cannot correct a poorly set leg. I had no hand in that; this and that are different.”

“I’m just reminding you there are limits.”

“There are limits necessary and unnecessary. I would think you would be the first to acknowledge such double standards.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that one day.” Claude teased, scratching through Lorenz’s hair; Lorenz wrinkled his nose. _Limits unnecessary… social rules. Petty rivalries._

“You might try.”

Claude only hummed in response, steeped again in planning for more pleasant schemes with happy endings.

  
* * *

After talking for some time, dozing, carefully selecting easy clothing for Lorenz to wear and brushing his lengthening hair, Claude and Lorenz made their way to the dining hall. The estate was falling to neglect in places with the apprehended staff waiting trial, but the few people they did see walking briskly down the halls seemed more determined than ever. Claude made it a point to name them in his head as they passed: they had survived the cleansing fire of his grandfather’s suspicions. They were also the ones who chose to stay: many others fled for fear of the former Duke’s madness. No matter how grand the House, they wanted no part in such high stakes. The staff left were the finest grade of professional, and many had just been bolstered by their promotion to senior staff.

_Is Amory among them, I wonder? There are too many missing to account for him._ Claude worried.

While they ate, Claude like a starved dog and Lorenz like a bird, a maid informed them Morven had arrived. He was lucid and eager to meet.

“Right— we’ll be there soon.” He looked at Lorenz. “You want to come, right?”

“Yes, please. I…” He halted, put down his fork. “I want to see where Lalia is buried. After…”

Claude hadn’t told him._ Did he guess? Did a maid tell him— or maybe Corliss did, failing to explain her condition?_ He had been waiting for Lorenz to ask; now he felt remiss that he had to hear it from someone else.

“I’m sorry Lorenz. I meant to tell you.”

Lorenz froze. He thought they had discussed it already; the past day was blurry. But no, he realized: that news came from Alvina.

“N-no, so much has happened…” Lorenz said, grateful Claude so handily jumped to conclusions.

“I can tell you there’s… something… a lot of things you don’t know about Lalia. I’ll explain in the… the crypt.” Claude lost his appetite; it seemed Lorenz had done the same.

Lorenz wrinkled his nose.

“More secrets? The crypt?” Lorenz asked, at first confused. “Oh. Of course… You intended to let me take her body home.”

“Well. Uh… It’s not that simple. I should show you before you jump to any conclusions.” Claude wiped his face. “But first: Morven.”


	80. Quickly

Lorenz was impressed by Morven’s speed. It took little time, from his departure to his return, than it would take to fly back to Derdriu and for the Riegan Guard to ferry back his ‘injured’ body. What state Morven was in intrigued him: did he truly batter and throw himself into a canal, or was it another trick? _An illusion cast by one of his associates in the spy trade— perhaps by Amory? Amory… Morven…_ Lorenz had his suspicions about the two, but for now making them known would only cause more unrest. He did not want to lay another burden on Claude’s mind, and just now he had no confidants of his own.

The infirmary was plain in compare to the estate, but massive: meant for sieges and war. It was Lorenz’s first time visiting consciously, and for once he could say Gloucester Estate was comparable or more. Among the empty white beds, Morven stood out in his ashen attire, a dark stain on the infirmary’s sterile image. Clearly recovered, he was already sitting up and looking around with disinterest: until his eyes landed on Lorenz. He stood abruptly— the heavy guard that surrounded him shifting to block him from escape.

“I’m only greeting Lord Lorenz and the Duke.” He assured.

“You can sit down to do that.” One of the armored men insisted.

Morven did not.

“Stand, sit, I don’t care.” Claude waved the command away before they could turn a dispute into a fight. “Everything you know. Now.”

Morven inclined his head politely and began calmly recounting a very nuanced tale of his search and capture. He left Alvina out entirely— whether it was a bluff or what actually occurred, Lorenz would need to clarify after the fact. He was more than a little annoyed that Morven left Leonie unconscious and undefended, but all the same he urged Morven to continue. Claude stopped him, several times, asking about key details, trying to catch him in some lie.

Claude understood Lorenz’s desperation, but the uncharacteristic lack of caution concerned him. Lorenz stood a bit too close to his could-be attacker, nodding vigorously throughout his story as if impatient. He claimed to be captive for the days since Lorenz's attack. 'Why' he managed not answer; he knew nothing of his captors or their motives. Supposedly.  
  
Morven finished, his tale concluded with his being under-dosed on sleeping poison and tossed into a shallow canal half-conscious. How much was true, neither Claude nor Lorenz could tell. But the facts they did know matched up precisely.

“The only issue I take with this story, is that you were captured… and your captors just _left_ Thyrsus in a trash heap, conveniently wrapped so no one else would notice it?”

“I wrapped Thyrsus myself; I had to, so that I could even touch the beast.” Morven clarified. “I tossed it away, desperate to keep it out of enemy hands.”

“And they didn’t stop you? Or see you?”

“Correct. I have some… minor illusion magic.” He admitted to Claude reluctantly. “It was a struggle that sapped a great deal of my strength, but I ensured they did not see it.”

“Huh.” Claude did not have the means to refute him._ I’ll have to sit down, later, and trace Amory’s possible path through the city and Morven’s, to see how they could have missed one another searching for the same person; and yet Amory found Thyrsus._ “And you said it was on Cavalier street?”

“Yes. In front of the cobbler… I don’t recall their name just now.” 

“Right.” Claude continued to search for more questions, but everything pertinent had been asked. He was kicking himself for not asking more questions of the very cooperative Amory when he had the chance._ If I knew exactly what direction he went… _

While he watched Claude stew, Lorenz felt foolish for being so careless in his vicious mood earlier, pretending he did not care where Morven had been. He clearly was not captured; what was he doing for two days, alone, if Lorenz was his prime concern? Suspicions aside, he reassured himself that everything could be parsed out later: when Alvina was reduced to no more than the dirt under their feet, there would be plenty of time to talk. 

“… Who is the illusionist who helped you trick me and Lorenz?” Claude asked, moving the interrogation to petty Estate matters.

“I’m sorry?” Morven was confused. “I believed that quarrel was passed.” He bristled, glancing at Lorenz for explanation, who was just as bewildered.

“The man who helped you conjure a likeness of Lorenz. He works on the estate grounds, you’ve worked with him directly. What does he look like?” Claude stepped closer to impose on him. “I need to know who it was.”

“It… was…” Morven became serious. There was also a hint of what Lorenz might call distress, but well hidden. “I know who you mean, and I remember working with him…” Morven placed his hand over his mouth, eyes darting back and forth as he searched his memory. He whipped his head up, vague distress behind his eyes. “I remember but— there is something missing. I remember the event, the conversations. I remember his body, even, the way he was dressed. The face and the name are scrubbed clean. I cannot conjure even a shred of a hint. Not a syllable or feature.”

“You cannot remember, truly?” Lorenz stepped forward. _An illusionist; unsurprising Morven can remember nothing. There is no end to the horrible magics that inhabit this world._

“No.” He was apologetic to Lorenz, honestly, and did not give Claude a cursory glance. It was the first time he had seen Morven appear remorseful. “I have truly failed you this time, My Lord. I must extend my most sincere apology.” He bowed deeply from the waist. “I do know I allowed my interest in illusion to catch me off guard; I grew too close to the man and it seems he has taken advantage of it. I am a liability to this Estate.”

He returned from his bow.

“You do always seem to be targeted by overwhelmingly organized and powerful groups. First the five spies use you as their front for disseminating the Benettos information, and now Amory has aided you to your detriment.” Claude assessed him.

“Amory?” Morven’s eyes grew wide. “I would never work with the Benettos under your own roof just to engineer such drama! Nor for anything!” He cut his hand across him, near shouting. He was angry at the accusation, as any true Butler’s or Maid’s honor was their most unbreakable vow.

Claude stepped back. 

“No, not intentionally. But you’re unwitting enough that it’s happened _twice_.”

Nothing else was said. Lorenz stepped into the conversation. 

“I believe him. I do not think it gullibility, or negligence. As you said, Duke Riegan: he was targeted by master spies. The fact that he is intact, and so passionate in his self-defense is all the proof I need.” Lorenz had little choice, despite his discomfort with the new information. “I’m going to need a new guard in Lalia’s… absence. It would seem Morven—”

“—Is unfit! You already fell while under his guard once!” Claude reminded him in shock.

“I was foolish enough to leave him outside.”

“Out of the question!”

Claude waited for Lorenz to argue. Or explain. Instead he only stared into Claude, searching for an excuse before abandoning the effort.

“We will discuss my guard later. I am growing tired.” Lorenz clutched his side, reaching for sympathy. “Take me to see Lalia so I may return to bed.”

“… Maybe we should wait—”

“No.”

Claude grimaced. 

“Take Morven to his room, under observation.” He instructed the guard, ignoring Morven altogether.

Morven tried to protest, but swallowed his words after a sharp glance from Lorenz. 

They made their way to the stone archway that lead into the embalming room: now returned to it’s usual coolness after Lalia had been moved deeper into the labyrinth that ran under the Estate. Through two more archways, they emerged in a side-channel that joined to the crypt’s main entrance. Claude pressed Lorenz for answers now that they were alone.

“You want Morven to be your guard?! I was going to send him away from the Estate!”

“He has certainly been in the middle of… some very dubious circumstances.” Lorenz tried to think of some way to reason without giving away his plot, his secret meeting with Morven. “Perhaps… it is a mage affinity. Mages know. There is something about him that insists on trust.” It was such a mystical and lazy lie. Lorenz was not surprised when Claude scoffed at the notion.

“You’re hiding something.” Claude pulled on his arm.

“And if I am I need you to trust me.” Lorenz knew he would never convince Claude on this matter; the least he could do was not lie to him.

Claude hesitated. The light was too low to see well into his eyes, but he knew he would see Claude scanning for possibilities and plots.

“You haven’t made great decisions so far— why should I? I trust you not to kill me, but beyond that I’m skeptical. You almost got yourself killed getting involved in a minor custody dispute between Morley and Jericho.”

“I almost died pursuing what is right— which happened to aid in your own affairs, I’ll remind you; and you must admit there is something larger happening here. No such power could be summoned for a mere _custody dispute_ as you call it. And are we only speaking of _my_ shortcomings? How did so many Empire spies infiltrate your Estate— at your Grandfather’s behest— all without your knowledge? Are you sure the Estate is completely routed—” Claude thought of Amory, and was incensed Lorenz hit on the issue so directly. “—Morley has won the seat for the table, he’s certainly no ally of ours. You failed to find Lysithea or the children; Lord Ordelia sits imprisoned, still; you have no leads for the first assassination attempt—” Lorenz continued his list viciously picking apart each of Claude’s failings.

“Enough! You made your point!” Claude barked. “At least I didn’t run away from my Grandfather’s misdeeds. What are you doing about Count Gloucester? What are you doing from Riegan about your father supporting the Empire!”

Lorenz was quiet. 

“… Maintaining my sanity. It is hard work, trying not to become him.” He said carefully. “Going against his wishes and standing against a hostile nation with only myself and a handful of loyal staff is not the picnic you seem to believe it is. I _have_ run away and I _am_ hiding. For everyone’s benefit. I will not make insubstantial moves against him that will only get all those who are dependent on me killed. My absence alone is handicapping and embarrassing him. This is the best I can do at present.”

It was no victory to hear Lorenz detail his helplessness.

Claude returned to the issue at hand, tone annoyed and playful to try and alleviate the tension. But he still wanted to have his way: no Morven.

“Why _Morven_?” He complained. “I can put Devar and Galen with you; you already have Alvina. She’s more powerful than her acts lends.”

“I am aware.” Lorenz replied, resisting a sneer at the mention of her foul name.

“While you were resting, I brought Ignatz and Raphael—”

“They are too close. Morven has agreed to be expendable.”

“When did this happen? You don’t sound like yourself.” Claude balked.

“I am not. I have had a nearly successful attack on my life, and it has changed me. There is a blood lust in Morven I want to ally with. Leonie, Raphael, Ignatz are all just as unseasoned as I; you must admit, each of us still hesitates. Morven makes no such mistakes.”_ I understand my father a little better now._ His lip quivered a moment before he resolved himself, turning deeper into the crypt. “I want to see Lalia now. Please.”

Claude nodded. It wasn’t over, but they couldn’t argue here any longer. They continued on the damp path leading deeper under the mansion between elaborate stone sepulchers of past Riegans.

“It’s a bit of a walk, are you okay for that?”

Lorenz stood straight, seeming unbothered. But Claude still wasn’t convinced.

“I believe so… but I remember an earlier claim that you were willing to carry me.”

“I can try. The ceiling gets pretty low… can you even stoop?”

“I will manage.” Lorenz tapped Thyrsus, nestled in a side-satchel until a new handle was forged. “… What of the illusionist? Why did you ask Morven about him?”

“Amory… it was Amory. But he’s been in disguise; or that’s what he told me.” Claude sounded just as defeated as Morven had moments ago. “He said he worked with Morven; said he conjured that perfect likeness of you on the day… You know.” 

“I know. That is some unnerving development I might have been better without knowing.” Lorenz said. He wondered, momentarily, if Alvina might be Amory. They wouldn’t know if Amory was wearing a ladies disguise if her corpse was only char. “I would not be so quick to take his word over Morven’s. You are discounting the testimony of a known spy in preference for one unknown. To prefer, to put faith in Amory’s account is foolish.”

_Amory didn’t pin you to the ground and press his dick against you._ The thought shocked Claude; he was disgruntled that the event still painted his judgments— and caused him to make _poor_ judgments. 

And he still could not bring himself to tell Lorenz what transpired with Amory and Count Gloucester in the infirmary. 

He let Lorenz’s word on the matter be the last.


	81. Sleeping Maid

The walk was unpleasant. It began quite regal, with low stone coffins that housed various Riegans from throughout the centuries, bronze plaques (of increasing intricacy by year) detailing their names and feats. _Some of them must have been powerful mages_, Lorenz guessed: there was an ebb of power lingering with no discernible source. It was not unheard of for mages of legend to enchant their burial place. 

But Lorenz had never heard of a Riegan mage who should have such capabilities.

The magic in the crypt only thickened as the air became cooler, the sconces growing more distant between one another, some flickered out. It was becoming uncomfortably dark. Now the caskets were ordinary, rotted in places.

“I think we’re far enough now.” Claude took Lorenz’s hand. “This place gives me the creeps. It starts to twist and turn from here, to keep most anyone from making it to the center. You know, if being spooked didn’t send them back first.”

“Claude… are you afraid of the dark?”

“No, I’m just more of an open sky person. Not a fan of caves, crevices, crypts. Or dead bodies.”

They had come far enough along that century old skeletons— perhaps decorated guards or well-loved servants— were lain on open stone bunks carved shallow into the wall.

“I admit they are not... _Sanitary_. But I do not find them disturbing. I think it is very soothing to know they found their way home.” He thought of the bodies strewn across the borders of Gloucester, pieces scattered like seed in the wind.

“Well, you finally did it Lorenz, you’ve managed to outdo me. No amount of romanticizing could make me think of dead bodies as _soothing_.” He laughed in discomfort. “Can you do that hand thing, with the light?”

“Hand _thing_, you make it sound so ordinary. _Glevo_.” Lorenz’s hand glowed softly with white light, casting the stone walls in a washed out glaze, more haunting than the warm light of the torches. But at least they could see. “I can only hope I am fortunate enough to be buried with honor long after this war is concluded; all fronts are precarious. The corpses are not soothing, it’s the hope that my fate could be so ordinary that I am laid to rest at home.”

The thought had never occurred to Claude: where he would be buried. He had plans for everything, but not like Lorenz, who seemed to have a rote schedule for how life should be lived and concluded. Claude’s life had never been a marked path, only a thicket that grew ever tighter around him, his name and status not more use than a dull knife. _It really must be 'soothing,' for that to be one of his foremost concerns. _

“So. Lalia…” Claude did not know where to begin, but they were getting closer. The air was beginning to warm. “Lalia is…”

“A Riegan spy.” Lorenz helped him along.

“That’s oversimplified. It turns out. Lalia is… not… human.”

“… I see.” 

Claude turned and gripped Lorenz by the shoulder.

“You see? You _see?_ Why don’t you sound surprised?!”

“I was raised with her. There were always inconsistencies. Especially when I was a child and she thought I would forget her slip-ups; or when she believed I was not paying attention.” Lorenz sighed. “And I did forget; what did it matter? I had nothing to prove and my own life to worry about it.”

Claude let his mouth hang open. To imagine, secrets, the discovery of something out of fantasy, and Lorenz just… ignored it.

“You’re letting me down. All these years you could have found out so much, but no, monumental secrets that unravel our very history and existence are just _bothersome._” Claude returned to his lead, tugging him along. There was a distant glow announcing the temple was near.

“Yes. By the time I thought to be curious, I hit puberty. Do you know how many beautiful, eligible young ladies were in Gloucester? Too many to count on ten hands. Then I was busy being versed in Lord’s etiquette, given more nuanced preparation for ruling the country sooner rather than later. Then I was sent to Fhirdiad, and back. Then you showed up, and I had to worry about seeking secrets about _you_.”

“You were harassing girls that early?”

“Ahah, despite my reputation at the Academy, the ladies of Gloucester are more refined and were equipped to appreciate my good breeding and fine manner of flattery.” Lorenz bragged. “I spent far too much time writing love poems and letters to worry about Lalia’s pointy ears, or why she covered them up daily. She told me it was rude to ask and rude to tell, and I left it at that.”

“You want me to believe you had enough girlfriends to keep you busy.”

“I had enough companions to send letters to keep my hands moving and my eyes averted.”

“How many of them wrote you back?” It was a cruel question, he realized too late. Claude had curbed his habit of humiliating Lorenz when he exaggerated his feats, but it still slipped out. He was more than a little jealous to think of Lorenz as a child, with other children to write to; that other nobles, Hilda, Marianne, probably knew a different Lorenz from their childhood days. A cushy upbringing with tea, cakes, and letters from friends while Claude was busy fighting his own siblings.

Lorenz declined to answer. 

Maybe he had never been beat-up by other children like he had, Claude thought, but it seemed he had few friends if any. They weren’t so different.

Lorenz was not so bothered by the question, but he let Claude stew. He was content with the pile of desperate letters Claude had sent him since their parting from the Academy… which he only replied to sporadically to scold him about sending such bold declarations where anyone might see. Hopefully the irony would not be wasted.

The air became smoldering, distracting them both from their thoughts. The concentration of magic was thick, stifling as the heat. Lorenz realized at last: it was no Riegan mage, but Lalia. He knew she was powerful, but this was unprecedented in death. 

They turned a corner, and arrived abruptly in a tall room of modest length. It was much like the holy tomb of Garreg Mach, but less grand: glowing soft, viridescent light emanated from the walls, tendrils of silt floating in the air like stardust in the concentrated sunbeam that came from some unseen port hole in the ceiling far above. 

“Oh. Oh Goddess.” Lorenz backed away at first. Claude braced his shoulders, blocking his view so he might regain his composure. “I knew she was burned, but… it looks dreadful.”

“Sorry. Corliss thought we should leave the injury uncovered and let Lalia’s body work her magic. I should have warned you.”

“No, I… I just assumed she would be healed, when we confirmed she was not… entirely human…” He steeled himself, moving around Claude and closer to the platform that held Lalia’s body. “Lalia…”

She looked like someone else without her uniform. Lalia was never caught in so much white, or in such basic fabrics, but it made her look peaceful; the linen the dress the morticians chose to cover her was gorgeous in it’s simplicity, catching the light from glowing stone to make it seem that Lalia herself was alight. As he dared to stroke her hair, he noticed there was a careful arrangement of pillows and folded blankets to keep her posture on the stark flat stone.

“A lovely addition.” Lorenz said, running a thumb over one of the silk patterned throws. “Did Corliss put these here?”

“It’s.. It’s kinda weird, I know; grandpa just said to put her down here on the tablet but… I thought that would be uncomfortable.” Claude stumbled over his words from the doorway. He meant to leave Lorenz alone, but thought better of going back into the dark by himself. “I might have been a little out of my mind at the time, but I knew I was grateful to her. You know?”

“I would have done no less… it is a very kind gesture. Thank you.” Lorenz stroked her hair a few more times, then stepped away. He did not want to look over her for long; it was too jarring. “All of your burdens and still you are so attentive. When was all this?”

“While you were sleeping.” Claude realized how stupid the answer sounded. “I mean…It’s been a long three days, I really don’t remember. It was at night, I think.” Claude recounted to Lorenz all that Oswald told him of Lalia’s centuries of influence, her place in the House, _over_ the house, and her claims to be a clairvoyant ‘manakete.’

“So she will wake up?” Lorenz was disinterested in the fairytale. Lalia’s secrets were unimportant to him: she was only a dear friend, a sister. The rest did not matter.

“It sounds like it. I don’t know when or how.”

“That’s fine. I am fine with not knowing, as long as she is safe.”

Lorenz folded his hands around the satchel that held Thyrsus, observing Lalia for some time.

“Don’t try anything reckless.” Claude warned as Lorenz twisted the canvas of the satchel between his hands.

“Nothing so dramatic.” He held his hand over the platform, manifesting a single puff of hydrangea. The effort was a struggle; white magic was not yet his forte, and conjuring complex life would sap anyone considerably. Lorenz buckled against the tablet, regaining his breath. Claude ascended the dais to brace him.

“I would call that dramatic. Just like you to waste your strength for flourish.” Claude lifted him, taking Lorenz under arm. “…Hydrangea, is it? I thought you were the rose-type.”

“I am, but Lalia never did like roses.”

“Right. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

* * *

After a few turns in the close hallway, the air cooled again and they stumbled through weak torchlight. In the smooth stone halls that led from the temple, Claude released Lorenz from his half carry and leaned him against the wall.

“This might be insensitive, given we just visited your ‘sleeping’ maid. But we are far away from the estate, or anyone listening. Last chance. If you want to share your plans with me, do it now.” He said seriously.

“Are you so sure we are away from any prying ears? This place is full of twists and alcoves. Even now my voice echoes.” Lorenz considered Morven’s ability to vanish; perhaps Alvina was capable of the same exotic magic.

“It’s the best we have.”

“I have no plans I can tell, except to urge you again to trust in my judgment.” Lorenz said. Claude looked betrayed, exasperated. 

Lorenz wished there was something he could give him to instill faith; it seemed Claude was losing his patience. But his own thoughts were far from scheming and vengeance, in his mind his thumb was still running over the silken pillow under Lalia’s head. He imagined a fraught and angry Claude taking time out of his duties to navigate the crypts, just to comfort a near-dead woman. It stoked Lorenz’s affections. There was no trait more desirable than gentleness. Were they in a less macabre locale, he might confess over again. 

No, despite being on the back end of a nearby crypt, he could not resist.

“_Undfuir_.” Lorenz took all of the fire from the torches, putting them in pitch black. He reached out to Claude; who flinched under his touch, but let himself be pulled and put against the wall in Lorenz’s stead. “There are some things I would tell you so deep underground; not plans, but admissions that might be used against us as hearsay.”

“Is that so?” Claude asked, nervous. The little trust Claude had in him was strained and being tested by his secrecy. While much had transpired to display Lorenz’s loyalty, there was yet some gap remaining that Claude had to fake: he could tell, feel it by the way Claude held his hand held closely by his waist, prepared for defense even now. Lorenz wanted to close that gap in trust before he began acting ‘against’ him from Gloucester. 

Lorenz slid his fingertips gently down the hand on Claude’s hilt.

“I thought you did not fear the dark? We are alone, you said.” Lorenz pulled Claude’s fingers from the dagger, pressing his body hard against him, dividing his legs with his knee. “You think I would do anything down here that I could have done from the comfort of my own bed the first night I arrived? In in your tightly locked room? Or at the Academy? Remember I have had many opportunities, squandering them in deference to my begrudging affection.”

“No chances: I’m not ready to join the peaceful dead just yet.” Claude admitted. “I would rather not die alone in the dark.”

Lorenz let Claude loose, just enough to slide his arms tightly around his back, before grinding against him again.

“I have you; you are not alone. Neither am I.” Lorenz assured. Claude gave in, drooping in Lorenz’s tight grip. “I will leave soon enough; return home. Return to my father. It might even appear more legitimate if I injure you in my retreat… But it seems you still do not comprehend what favor I hold for you in my heart, Claude. I want to force my feelings into you, through you, I want you to feel it in your chest and beneath your skin: the mixed sorrow and bitterness at being born under the wrong name in such a poorly time in history, the longing for you and the guilt that attends it. The shame that anyone set before me I would kill for your aims— only because I can trust you would never make an unjust man of me, never ask me to fell an innocent like I have been asked to do by others. You present yourself as ruthless, but you are kind. Selfless.” He sighed, the hint of a moan escaping under his breath, “This is all I could not muster so soon after waking from my injuries. You are strong… _Very_ strong. Sure. Powerful.”

“You like that, don’t you?” Claude pulled at Lorenz likewise now, though they could not come any closer.

“Compassion and political might are traits I covet as a set.” Lorenz pulled his hips back to thrust against Claude; like an animal, no grace, he thought; but the motion was satisfying. The catch of Claude’s breath was more so. 

Lorenz was tempted to kiss him, but the thought of the dust on their skin repulsed him, that he might ingest more than they had already breathed in.

He pulled away, returning the light to the torches.

“…Take me back to your room.” Lorenz said slowly. “I want to be alone.” He grabbed Claude’s waist as he pulled him from the wall, to make his meaning clearer. “I want to be _alone_.” He repeated. 

Claude made a quick journey of their exit, hasty to put the crypts behind them.


	82. Sleepless, Part 1

The moment they arrived at Claude’s suite, Corliss was impatient pacing in front of the door. She refused to leave, scolding them for walking the Estate in Lorenz’s condition, before checking him head to toe. Afterward, Alvina arrived, offering again to keep watch of Lorenz; which Claude had to decline more tersely than before, to Lorenz’s satisfaction. Just as the door shut, a guard brought news pertaining to Morley’s missing plaintiffs. Then a letter from Morley himself, explaining there were more matters he needed to address in small council and he was requesting an extension of time allotted to him, sent to each of the five Great Lords to consider.

When his dealings concluded, the chime for dinner sounded, an additional note arriving via maid: Oswald requested Claude’s company for dinner… which he could hardly decline in his grandfather’s failing health.

“This is what I get for trying to unmake my bed in the middle of the day.” Claude groaned. 

Lorenz scoffed.

“Five in the afternoon is hardly the _middle of the day_.”

“It’s summer, we still have four hours of sun. And needy Lords will waste every minute of it harassing me.”

Lorenz looked at him lasciviously from the chair where he was draped in the afternoon heat.

“And what of me? Am I not the most pressing Lord demanding your divided attention?” Lorenz drawled, before lecturing him. “I am no stranger to hard work, but five p.m. is the cutoff. One must have time to rest and relaxation to maintain the optimal mind for decision making.”

Claude looked over him, tired but ravenous.

“Is that how you do it in Gloucester?” Claude chewed his lip. “You can show me how you relax… after dinner. We’ll only have an hour or two; you should sleep in your suite tonight—”

Lorenz seized Claude by the wrist, pulling him closer.

“—Not just yet.” Lorenz squeezed, terrified of being left alone (and leaving Claude alone) while Alvina had run of the house. “Tomorrow night, I’ll sleep in my suite.”

Concern drew over Claude, and a certain detachment: it became too obvious that Lorenz had undisclosed plans. The mood was dissipating…

…But Lorenz was growing more accustomed to averting Claude’s paranoia.

“Why tomorrow night?” Claude asked suspiciously.

“I… just enjoy your bed. Your company, even if we must make it seem as though we are distant. I am sure the lounge is uncomfortable to sleep on, but having you near—”

“Enough.” Claude drew him into an embrace, pulling Lorenz’s head against his stomach and combing through his hair. “That’s all you need to say. You want me near; I love to hear it…” He whispered. _Too easy,_ Lorenz thought.

Before someone could interrupt them again, Claude dropped to his knees in front of the lounge, pushing kisses up onto Lorenz’s neck and chin. 

“We’ll lock the door tonight.” Claude promised, adding provision before Lorenz could decry it as _too_ scandalous. “There’s and old servant passage in here I have nailed shut: you’ll stay here, and I’ll open it and come to you.”

“Should I not take the spare quarters, and come to you?”

“No, you’ll get lost. Then, after whatever little _plans_ you made have been carried out tomorrow, you can go back to your suite.” Claude insisted half-heartedly. “Or, Riegan Hall back in Derdriu, if you think it would be more suitable.”

“Perhaps.” Lorenz was not ready to plan ahead before concluding his vengeance.

I_ will rid this Estate of Alvina tomorrow if I can get near to Morven for even a moment. She will not have the luxury of regretting her threats._

“… Are you sure I should go to Small Council tomorrow?” Claude asked, worry in his eyes. “Should I stay, for whatever is happening that you can’t tell me?”

“No. You have a country to lead; this is a small matter.” Lorenz assured, coming as close to admission as he was willing. “I need you distant.”

_A safe distance._

* * *

Lorenz waited alone in Claude’s room, dinner long served and taken. Corliss finished her final, obsessive check for the evening (still terrified of both Lalia and Claude should Lorenz regress). Lorenz was left worrying over his shoulder; he half-rotated it, stopping at a stab of pain. The flesh was full healed, as far as he could tell, with only a round scar to evidence it was ever there… but a twinge and a catch remained; something Thyrsus could not remedy with energy alone.

However, when he pressed all around the nasty scar along his abdomen, there was nothing of ache despite it nearly killing him. The scar on his temple was not _painful_, but sensitive. Every graze was like being brushed with the edge of a feather. 

_I am prepared as I will ever be._ He concluded, waiting for Claude to emerge from the servants door. Lorenz loathed his condition: still half-hurt, fearful of Alvina, hanging on his breath, jumping at each sound hoping that the hidden door would push open— yet worried the wrong person would crawl out of the dark passage. Like a damsel trapped. He paced the room, restless; coming to the freshly broken servant’s passage once more to run his fingers over the splintered wood, where the nails had been pried out. He returned then to the window to gaze out: tired of laying and unwilling to return to bed alone. 

At last, the narrow door creaked open, rusty with years unopened.

Claude emerged, grinning when his eyes landed on Lorenz. 

It was difficult for Lorenz, to not bound to him directly, take him up in an enthusiastic embrace and fall into him completely. He crossed quickly to the bed before stopping himself; fingertips resting gently on the intricate canopy frame.

“I thought you had lost your resolve.” Lorenz said with mock derision. The clock was striking ten and he was long drained of his energy.

“No, just track of the time. Really should get around to appointing a steward.” He shirked off his jacket, into the floor, and met Lorenz at his bedside. “I…”

Lorenz shushed him with a nudge against his forehead, nuzzling before tilting into a very careful and slow peck on his lips. 

“…I’m so exhausted.” Claude finished, hanging his head onto Lorenz’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Lorenz.”

Lorenz released a breath he did not know he was holding. He realized, now, his legs were shaking from fatigue: he had done too much, too soon, just as Corliss worried.

“Thank the Goddess.” He sighed, dropping onto the bed’s edge. “Perhaps later. Or in the morning. Or another day, but Saints: I can barely hold my eyes open.”

Claude laughed, hoisting himself into the bed. 

“We’re getting old.” He threw his shirt off, wrapping himself tightly in his own blankets.

“We’re getting into the thick of it, mired in the busy work of a most inefficient bureaucracy. Which would be manageable on its own, if not for the equally tiring duty of staying above ground.”

“Hmhm, I would take the desk work in stride if it wasn’t for deadly game played under the table.” Claude laced his fingers thoughtfully over his chest as Lorenz arranged himself beside him. “Remember when I was at your room every other night, there near the end? Alliance troubles were far away, out of our hands.” He spoke of the Officer's Academy; it was the only other time they were forced into such proximity._ I’ve only spent a year and two months with Lorenz all total, if I think about it. Most of it arguing,_ Claude realized.

“I was plenty burdened by Alliance matters; you were merely… merely…” Lorenz yawned widely “… you were there to interrupt it.”

“I still dream of it, you know. The last night.”

“I only dream... of the morning after...”

Lorenz drifted to sleep; it took Claude only moments to join him.


	83. Sleepless, Part 2

At first, Claude could hear his own voice, as if from a distance.

_"I know how to command. We've already fought a small complement from the empire, and I'm confidant their ranks are too strict to adapt to a battle against our own flexible tactics. We have the upper ground, the fortitude. But what if one of them... what if they panic? What if I lose one of my classmates, teach? I can't stand the thought." Claude ran his face through his hands. He supposed they weren’t ‘classmates’ anymore. It seemed like a demotion, to think of them as soldiers._

_"You might.” Byleth agreed. “It’s war.”_

_His room was silent, as was the dormitory hall. It seemed like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for Edelgard to arrive. Claude looked to Byleth for explanation: she was a bedrock, but he needed a bit more than solid footing._

This time, the words came from his own mouth: he was no longer watching his memories, but reliving them: one of the better dreams he had. It always began with the conversation with Byleth, and the disappointment that followed. It would become a good dream, if he could make it all the way to Lorenz. It wasn’t always the case. Sometimes the dream ended with Byleth.

_“… I assumed there’s more to that, by the look on your face.” He said._

_“Not a lot _to_ say: you need to come to terms with it.” Her face remained stoic; she had always found comfort in her father’s unwavering, and meant to serve the same role for others... But she had learned by now Claude preferred the reasoning to accompany blunt truths. She made the conscious effort to let her brows dip, making a show of her earnest concern, and elaborated on her thoughts. “With the same resolve you have that they are ready and well trained, you must believe they are mentally prepared… and also prepare, yourself, for the possibility of losing them."_

_"Yeah... okay. No, that's not… It’s not the only reason why I asked you to come here. It's not just them I'm worried about."_

_"Oh?" She was genuinely confused; unfamiliar with the nuances of speech and body language that preceded a heartfelt revelation._

_"I'm worried about you. Losing you. We already did, once, in that black mist. What if they bring one of those things? I-" His breath caught for only a moment. "What if _I _panic, Teach?"_

_"You didn't panic when I was taken the first time, and I came back."_

_Claude pulled at the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. _

_"I'm still not saying what I mean." _ _Claude complained. _

_"Talk as long as you need." Byleth leaned back into the wood chair from her impatient posture, planting her legs wide and resting her fists on them. Ready to wait._

_He dug his toes into the carpet: they were freezing. His arms were cold, too, but he thought dispensing his jacket as well would give her a hint._ Even I know what it means when you invite someone into your room with your shoes off, _he lamented._ _It was a strange Fodlaner custom, but he learned quickly after Lorenz scolded him for inviting him in to retrieve a book while bare-foot. _What a conversation_, he remembered fondly Lorenz cursing him and hissing about the perversion and striking him with a book._

_Byleth was left out of the loop about many nuances of noble life. It made her more personable. But it also meant Claude now had to give voice to his feelings instead of relying on signals._

_Still, he glanced over to his neatly made bed several times. She did not follow his eyes, but stared into a distant corner to give him space to think._

_"I want to protect you." He managed at last, in a deep huff._ It's better this way, _he told himself._

_Byleth understood. She looked over him with muted admiration, before her lips turned up at the corners. Claude leaned forward, willing himself to take her hand. _

_"Teach- Byleth. I don’t trust anyone, haven’t been able to. But _you_—"_

_There was a frantic knock on the door._

_Claude pulled back, an irritated groan escaping him. He took a deep breath and stood._

_"Come in." The door cracked a little, Lorenz's iris head leaned through the door. He was paler than usual._

_"Oh— I am sorry, I did not realize you were with company." Lorenz mumbled. It was unlike him to speak without confidence; it was unsettling. Something was wrong._

_"Come in, Lorenz. I was just leaving." Byleth said, a look of apology passing from her to Claude. "Outside." She gestured, directing Claude to finish their conversation._

_"Make yourself at home Lorenz." Claude said coldly when he passed through the doorway._

_In the hall, Byleth took Claude's arm in the friendly gesture he was so fond of._

_"He's scared."_

_"_He's_ scared?_ I'm _scared. How am I supposed to help him?"_

_"Give him what you were seeking from me." She advised. Claude wondered if she really understood what he meant to seek from her._

_"Just... pass on the same advice?" He tested._

_She placed her hand on his cheek. He leaned into it eagerly, longing, relief making him slacken his shoulders. She understood._

_"You're calm. Take care of him." She pulled her hand away slowly. To Claude, it seemed even reluctant. "I should return to my room anyway. There may be other students seeking me out for advice." She was right; he was selfish to think they could pass the long night undisturbed. They both had people depending on them. _

_"Thank you... Teach." She nodded, turning in a swoop of her jacket to find her way back to her own responsibilities._

_Inside the room, Lorenz seated himself in the vacant chair, noting for once the bed was cleared; realizing too late he had interrupted well laid plans. He stood abruptly to excuse himself, but there was nothing to be done about it now. _

_Claude returned, closing the door softly behind him. He let out a long breath._

_"I am so sorry, I seem to have interrupted something very important." Lorenz grit his teeth, fighting back the urge to sob aloud. _

_"What's wrong Lorenz?"_

_"I… I don't want anyone to die! This is different! This is _wrong._"_

_"I know." _

_Lorenz managed to calm himself. He sat again, and began searching all of his pockets for a handkerchief he had neglected. Claude noticed his rose was missing as well, his jacket half unbuttoned over a nightshirt._

_"Here." Claude handed him his own gold and black handkerchief and sat down on the bed while Lorenz made himself presentable. _

_ "I must apologize. I do not know what came over me." He continued to dab at the corners of his red eyes. "I cannot behave so cowardly on the battlefield; I want to inspire confidence in the men I lead, but I cannot stop shaking. Every battle before this we have had an overwhelming advantage. We, students, are fighting an entire army of trained veterans."_

_"We’re practically knights; only the graduation was delayed. Just make it up as you go. Tell them you 'shake with rage at the atrocity of war' or something poetic; you're good at that stuff." _

_"If only my voice could carry so readily. It is just... if I lose my life, I am young and inexperienced, and I chose to battle. But if my ignorant command cuts short the life of another..."_

_"They made the same decision you did, to become knights. And to trust you. Like you and I both trust Byleth."_

_"Professor Byleth."_

_"Yea, Teach. That's what I said."_

_"They did not make that choice. We hired the battalions— and I have my position due to my noble lineage, not any demonstrated prowess." Lorenz worried. “And what’s worse… our peers. They have chosen to stand with Edelgard. Ferdinand, Dorothea, even Linhardt. He has been a Golden Deer since our second month, but… to one’s own country; I suppose I would choose no different. We have to fight against them.”_

_The conversation halted awkwardly; Claude had nothing to offer. They were his friends, _too_, but they were the enemy now: something he was accustomed to. Lorenz twisted the gifted handkerchief in his hands. _

_"... I have a confession, of sorts." Lorenz started._

_"I'll do my best, I'm no priest."_

_"That is suitable. I could not confess to a priest that I do not much care for the Church; I would let it fall. I would turn my back and leave this battle tonight if I could carry my friends with me."_

_Claude was shocked. Lorenz continued._

_"I do not want anyone to die for Seiros, for the Goddess. For Rhea or a cathedral. We could simply walk away and leave Edelgard to dismantle them. It is not our battle by any stretch. Lady Rhea... Lady Rhea is ready to use us as a shield."_

_"... Lorenz, I don't know what to say. I thought you were devout."_

_"I go through the motions to prepare for my role, where it will be my duty to inspire the common folk who believe, that is all. I must reflect their interests, or who am I to represent them? It gives me some insight into their feelings."_

_Claude had never considered Lorenz an equal; pure of heart in a naive way, all talk but ultimately spineless, a plaything, and in the future a useful piece in the never ending game of politics. The ‘false’ love letter he had written him was a half-truth, written to an ideal Lorenz he did not believe existed. He saw him now anew: knowing they both shared such a dangerous disinterest in the church or the goddess was intimate; it felt, to Claude, closer than the lips and skin they shared when he picked Lorenz’s lock._

_"What do you need, Lorenz? What do you need to feel like you can face the day tomorrow? I'll do anything." Claude was desperate to know more. He wanted insight, closeness and trust. Even if superficial, if only for a night._

_"My own inspiration. A reason to fight. I will fight, regardless, but I need a stronger will to lead."_

_“… You know, we’re more alike than I thought.” Claude laughed weakly. Lorenz managed a mild shock even through his panic. “I wouldn’t fight for the church… as the church. But I will fight for them as a stronghold. Do you think Edelgard will stop with Garreg Mach?”_

_Lorenz was uncertain what Claude meant; he continued._

_“It won’t be enough. If the church is her enemy, she’ll route the kingdom next. And even though the East church holds no power, she’ll cut through the Alliance to destroy it. Or that will be her excuse. And a machine built to fight tyranny doesn’t just stop churning because the tyrant is defeated: it looks for new targets to brand as evil to feed it’s purpose. You aren’t fighting for Rhea or Seiros.”_

_This Lorenz could grasp. Even in his distress, he became resolute with the notion of protecting the Alliance._

_“The first stand just happens to be here." Lorenz uttered his comprehension._

_“What’s more, I can’t leave anyone behind either, Lorenz. Maybe… I need you to fight for me.”_

_“That is hardly justice. I can scarcely tolerate you.” He said the words, drained of any truth now. “…I still cannot relax.”_

_“You’re not going to relax tonight. But you need a distraction.” Claude could recognize his every beg for comfort: his arms folded, a thumb petting his own shoulder; wilting in his chair, in need of someone to hold him up. Tightly as his body was coiled, his legs were parted graciously: neither typical or proper of him. Lorenz stared toward the door. Claude could imagine he was willing himself to leave, to spend the night alone in stoic contemplation._

_“Hn!” Lorenz jumped; when Claude reached for his face, he started at the warmth, surprised, distracted as he was by his thoughts of escape. _

_“I said you need a distraction. We both do.”_

_“What if someone else comes?”_

_“The door has a lock.” Claude said, tired physically and tired of talking. “Who else could come that needs me more than you do?” He pulled Lorenz gently from the chair._

_Lorenz leaned on him gratefully; shrugging off his own boots. Claude set him on the bed, then lay him back by his shoulders. _

_“Let’s sleep.”_

_“Is sleeping the most motivation you can offer?” Lorenz grumbled, glancing at Claude sideways. With his eyes still rimmed red, wet at the corners; hair mussed, clothing crooked and untucked; his heresy against the church revealed— Claude’s body responded more eagerly than it ever had. His fascination was becoming something more than cat and mouse. _

_Deepening into his chest. _

_Making it ache._

_“Well, I wasn’t going to take advantage of you, but if you’re asking…” He purred, ready to forget they were rivals to explore the tantalizing new feeling. _

_Despite his invitation, Lorenz’s lips turned down at the corners he looked away, disgusted. _

_“Do not make me elaborate. Just… Just do whatever it is you want!” Lorenz spat, unable to look him in the eye._

_Claude Groaned._

_“… Nope, not this; not this time. You look like you’re going to be sick.”_

_“I am. I am sick, I hate this.” Even as he stared intently into the wall, he clung to Claude’s arms over him. “I hate this and I hate you!”_

_“I know.”_

_“You have the chance to humiliate me then, just do it!”_

_“No.” Claude took his chin, turning Lorenz’s face toward him, tight enough that his cheeks pressed in toward his grinding teeth. “I’m not doing anything you don’t ask for.”_

_Lorenz’s stared at him, flushed with betrayal that Claude would make such a demand: he should know how Lorenz played the game by now. _

_His chest heaved. He exhaled through his teeth, hard, breath quickening in agitation._

_“Like… Like you did with your fingers.” He stuttered while they held one another in place, locked in negotiations. His fingers tightened against Claude’s bare arms. “But more …F-Fuck me! Don’t make me say it again!” Lorenz’s body rebelled against his words, squirming under Claude as if to escape what he begged for. _

_Claude let go of his face, helping him out of his jacket and shirt frantically, meeting mixed resistance and accommodation. It seemed Lorenz needed the struggle for excuse, but each time Claude began to draw off his efforts for fear of leading an assault, Lorenz leaned into Claude’s hands, pulled him closer. _

_When Claude unbuttoned Lorenz's pants, he froze. No more resistance or invitation. The blush on his chest deepened: awareness striking him anew. Their intent. The result. Claude matched his stillness; Lorenz decided to busy himself Claude’s own pants, unfastening them deliberately and lowering them just below his abdomen. He ran his fingers under the edges of the waistband..._

_...Before he turned himself over._

_“I… I cannot look. I cannot watch.” He mumbled. “I’m still asking.” He assured._

_There was some apprehension in Claude. But was willing, despite his body seeming so… slight. Fragile. Claude ran his fingertips down his spine, taking his hips up, lowering Lorenz’s pants just enough to get at him. _

_It was the most of Lorenz’s skin Claude had seen so far. Claude could not stop, pulling the pants down farther than he needed to, letting his knuckles glide over Lorenz’s long, downy legs until they were free of his uniform. Lorenz stay face down, wrapped around Claude’s pillow without complaint or encouragement. _

_“Lorenz…” Claude took his ass in both hands: slender as his hips, but full; dimpling where it met his back as Claude squeezed and lifted. “Are you still asking for it? Do you want me?”_

_Lorenz nodded his head furiously into the pillow, his shoulders reddening. _

_Claude lifted his hips just enough that, at a lean, he could reach under him with his mouth. He squeezed the fold in Lorenz’s inner thighs with his thumbs, tongue tip pulling up across his balls as they tightened under the caress. _

_“What are you doing?!” Lorenz jolted upward. _

_“You don’t like it?” Claude did not wait for an answer this time, retracing his path, using his full tongue, weaving to cover ever millimeter of his undercarriage. Lorenz shook in his hands as he came closer and closer to his ass; tensing as Claude’s tongue circled around him. But the gentle sighs Lorenz pressed into the pillow were far from complainant. _

_Claude ran his tongue over him again and again until the shaking stopped, until Lorenz's legs slackened and he began to relax with each pass of his tongue. He drew away, wiping his face on a stray bed sheet. He couldn’t wait much longer. Claude pushed into him, three fingers breadth, quickly, desperate to open him up. Expecting Lorenz to pull away, he looped an arm around under his hips: but Lorenz only struggled toward him, pushing into each thrust and chasing each pull of his fingers, his rising voice hardly muffled by the pillow._

_Lorenz began to shift awkwardly, elbow’s flexing and bowing as he tried to take his cock in hand. Claude blocked him with the arm under his hips. _

_“Not yet, not yet…” Claude chided._

_Claude spared all of the patience and gentleness he could muster. Lorenz was glossed over with saliva and sweat, soft to the touch, pliant. He let go of Lorenz, who kept his hands under the pillow as Claude insisted, and got on his knees to place his cock across Lorenz’s backside. It took only one, two hard presses before Claude was enveloped, sinking into him._

Fuck fuck fuck, fuck I don’t remember it feeling this good. It’s been… It’s been a long time since... Fuck_. Claude bowed over Lorenz, scooped his arms under Lorenz’s shoulders, taking his wrists under the pillow. _I want… I want to… mess him up. Oh fuck… _He loosed his full weight onto Lorenz, letting his cock slide full-in as he bear down. _

_“Lorenz, does it feel good? Do you like it?” He groaned into his hair._

_“Mmhm— nn!” He mumbled, tapering into a whimper._

_Claude crammed Lorenz flat with his hips, pushing his legs up behind his knees, pressing him down into the bed. He wanted to surround him, he loved the feeling of smothering Lorenz’s body with his own. He was willing, yes; yet the sensation of subduing Lorenz was perversely satisfying, their rivalry playing no small part. All their petty games amounted to this and it was gratifying to come out on top. _

_It would be short and sloppy— already Claude struggled to keep himself from coming. It was his only chance he assumed: the first and the last time Lorenz might tolerate him. He did not want to waste it. There was so much he wanted from Lorenz with only minutes to beg for them._

_He pumped slowed and deep as he could, measuring his rhythm with each squeak from Lorenz's throat._

_“S-say my name. You know I like it.” Claude demanded._

_“Claude…” It was low and indistinct, but enough._

_“Tell me what you want, what do you want from me, anything.” Claude slowed further. It was torture. Moreso when Lorenz grew impatient, making up for Claude's pace with his own effort. “Anything. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”_

_“…C… Claude… Please…” Lorenz whimpered. “… take me from here…”_

_It was sad, desperate, But Claude did say anything._

_“Yes— we’ll leave. Unf…” He made stupid, worthless but satisfying promises between breaths and grunts. “Leave— to Alm-another country— spend days alone— no war— no names—Ah… Ahn…”_

_The tempo between his thrusts and Lorenz’s bobbing synced perfectly. _

_“Mmmnn _almazid,_ Lorenz…” Claude caught himself, eyes rolling forward from his ecstasy to see if Lorenz reacted to his Almyran beg. If he had, he was too busy fucking himself on Claude to react. “More… Lorenz… harder… good… fuck…” _

_While searching for his reaction, Claude noticed Lorenz managed to slide his hand under his belly. He lifted him slightly to let him properly finish, the sight of Lorenz’s elbow pumping furiously beneath him sending Claude into a frenzy._

_“Ohf— Yes! Come for me Lorenz!” Claude held still Lorenz's hips, to pound into him rapidly as possible. “Ah! Ahn! Nnn!”_

_It was when Lorenz lifted his head from the pillow to cry out unmuffled that Claude exploded into him. He felt Lorenz tense the same, and plunged his hand underneath to feel Lorenz spill out into the sheets._

_“Claude… Clauuuude…” His hips continued to twitch until he was done thrusting into his hand. _

_It was over too quickly._

_For several moments, they regained their breath. Not moving, not retreating or considering their position. When Claude pulled out from Lorenz, the moment was over—_

_It struck them both at once._

_The discomfort._

_That they would have to look at each other, and at some point, speak to one another._

_Clean up. _

_Lorenz seemed to decide such discomforts would not need to be faced tonight: grabbing the nearest cloth-item he could find to wipe the bed, he retreated under the covers without word. Claude waited, stunned, but Lorenz did not return. _

_He dressed himself halfway and lay down; glad to let Lorenz have all the blankets if it gave him time to consider what they had just done._

_And how good it felt._

  
_* * *_

  
_The night before, the way fear hummed in his heart, Lorenz could practically feel the Empire’s army stomping, quaking around the mountains base to crumble it until it crashed to the earth around it, level and assailable. Now calm, it struck him as cruel that the crickets could still be heard; that the wind still blew unaware of the danger marching. That this morning could sound like any other._   
  
_Not quite Lorenz’s usual morning. He never ached like this, even after training; never heard Claude breath slow and deep in sleeping; no matter how many times his room had been visited by the scoundrel, he never stayed. It felt, strangely, as things should be and— and yet impossible._

_It felt stranger still when Claude stirred to wake— Lorenz closed his eyes to feign sleeping for embarrassment. He had become uncovered in the night, one arm cast across Claude’s chest. Lorenz felt him move it gingerly, and sit on the edge of the bed for some time. When he arose, Lorenz looked through loosely shuttered lids. Claude was sitting quietly on the carpet, hands rested on his knees. _

_When he finished meditating, Lorenz opened his eyes full, cautiously, to take in the novelty of watching him dress in the thin grey light of dawn. This usurper, as his father called him, was so very human; not planning anything for the moment, nor smirking or teasing, this person was hardly Claude. _

_Perhaps someone more divine. _   
  
_He noticed it, perhaps before Claude did: a series of knocks, cascading down the hall. It was drawing closer. He saw Claude perk and listen to the muffled voices that were being exchanged two doors down. He sat down in his chair, waiting for the knock to come to his door._

_Three plain raps followed, just as they had on Lorenz's empty room before. Lorenz shut his eyes quickly, just as Claude turned around to cover Lorenz fully. The door creaked open._

_“Teach."_

_“Claude. They’re marching, about three hours out. Be ready in one.”_

_“Right.” There was a silence; Lorenz thought something passed unspoken he could not see._

_“Make sure Lorenz knows. He wasn’t in his room.” She said. Lorenz burned around the ears, sure she was casting her eyes over the suspicious lump in Claude's bed._

_“I’m sure few people were in their own rooms, unless they had guests… where was Hilda?”_

_“I don’t have time to gossip.”_

_“…Byleth, wait—”_

_“One hour.” She said before Lorenz could hear footsteps and a dutiful knock on the next room over. Claude shut his door, coming back to the bed._

_When he sat on it’s edge, he pulled the blankets back: brushing Lorenz’s hair around his face. He combed his fingers through it, then behind his neck._   
  
_“You should stay here.” He whispered to himself._

_Lorenz made a show of moving in increments, as if waking slowly to the touch. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times under Claude’s insistent hands before effectuating a disgust he did no longer felt._

_“Lorenz.”_

_“...”_

_“They could arrive any time. You need to put on your armor.”_

_“A few more minutes.” Lorenz demanded._   
  
_Claude smiled._

_“You can’t bargain time today.”_

_“...”_

_“Do you…” _want to leave? Come to Almyra. We’ll take Hilda and Byleth, at least.

_“What?”_

_“Come with me to eat.”_

_* * *_

“You’ll stay here today.” Claude informed Lorenz from between his legs, where he found himself buried after a fitful night of sensuous recollection. It was just before dawn, not long before he would need to return to the other suite.

“I do not want to. I want to be in Derdriu.” Lorenz answered, voice coarse with sleep and pleasure. In truth, he only wanted to get away from Alvina, and his responsibility of dispatching her: for the moment, revenge was far from his mind. He wanted to flee the burden of preemptive murder; Morven_ would_ take care of her alone, if he asked it. But it was his responsibility, and he would regret letting her escape his wrath.

Still, Lorenz only wanted to stay in the ready room alone and wait for Claude to return from Small Council. There was still much they had not discussed. He wanted nothing but to comfort, kiss and bandy; and maybe Claude could convince him to help sully his new desk with more than loose papers. Claude looked nice from above, as he did now: Lorenz thought he might like to see the same view while sitting in his Duke’s ready room chair.

“It’s safer here, especially with all those spies routed.” Claude tried to put Amory out of his mind. “We’re still not sure if you can fight if you’re attacked again.” He rose slowly, standing to stretch.

“I have no proper arguments, Claude: I simply wish to be in the city. For my own reasons.” _I certainly can fight; it seems he enjoys treating me like I am helpless… I do like being spoiled._

“How can you have reasons and no argument? Tell me your reasons.” 

“… I am restless.”

“Restless?! You’ve hardly rested!” Claude leaned into the bed again to kiss him on the forehead. “If I have to worry about you being in the city, it will distract me. Please.” He knew Lorenz well. He would never want to distract from the many pressing matters at hand.

“Of course I have no means to defy you…I wish Hilda had stayed.” Lorenz mumbled; he could not forget the look in her eyes after she kissed him on the cheek. She would gladly keep him company in lieu of Alvina… but now at least she was out of reach. He hoped.

“Me too.” Claude ran his hand across the scar on Lorenz’s temple: an annoying new fixation of his that would become endearing to Lorenz in time. “I’m going now. Wait for me— I’ll be back in the afternoon. Swift as the wind.”

“I will be waiting… and tonight, you are to return to me well rested. Ready.”

“Oh I plan to. I’m going to think about it all day” He kissed Lorenz’s hand, running his tongue between two of his fingers. ”I love you, Lorenz.”

“… Thank you.” Despite his admission days before, made in haste, he could not say it back, finding the common words paltry; and worse, he hadn't earned them through any proper courting. He had standards. 

Claude did not seem to mind— even finding it amusing. He only smiled, and left quietly. 

Lorenz lay in the gray light considering all the finest words at his disposal, nestled in the blankets and scent of his fleeting lover. 


	84. Small Council

Small Council was more daunting to Claude than any Roundtable: only Great Lords and one crooked record keeper in attendance, making decisions more prone to bias and petty rivalry. 

The quarterly Rountables were public, to make the masses feel they had at least some oversight. Few real decisions were made in public Roundtables in the heat of the moment: save for voting, and surprise events like Lysithea’s demand for her father’s seat, outcomes were predetermined. Lords might still argue their point, as Goneril and Gloucester often did, to sway the crowd and cause an uproar: but it was more of a show than anything.

Here, in the closed and closely guarded Council Chamber, delicate matters were handled with no transparency, no major lords or minor lords. Only the five— and when applicable, anyone unfortunate enough to be subject to their private judgment and questioning.

The new Duke did not know what to expect: his Grandfather had briefed him before, but it was a distant memory: no heirs were allowed to spectate closed councils. There was no procedure to rely on; his grandfather was only able to advise him on tone. Claude could foster an air of easygoing, like Oswald had: let the Lords become too comfortable and make slip-ups to gain greater insight; or he could impose a strict, orderly atmosphere that would demand obeisance.

Strict wasn’t his style, and forcing the other Lords to simper would only make his duty harder. He would let the senior Lords carry on as they always had… to a point.

The only time Claude had even entered the Small Council room was years ago: at 17, to be introduced as the Duke’s newfound heir and display his crest for legitimacy. He had been so nervous, he forgot how he had been taught to activate his crest intentionally. It was of little use to him in Almyra; while he was aware of it, he did not use it. On purpose. It was an oddity and nothing more; but only four years ago, these same men he now lead, looked on it with hope, disgust, curiosity, and more.

When Claude first took his seat, he noted the arrangement was just like the Roundtable…. And Count Gloucester was disturbingly absent.

Though sitting out the public Roundtable was not uncommon, sitting out Small Council lost a Great Lord valuable sway on Alliance matters. Gloucester had only been absent in the past six months due to extenuating circumstance; for him to be in Derdriu already and leave meant something else, some greater venture needed his direct handling. Claude could only think of Amory whispering in Lorenz’s voice, and The Count leaving in a swift rage. _What could Amory say that is more important than the Alliance?_

It was an ill omen.

There was no time to dwell on it.

“Will Count Gloucester be joining us? I have not heard— uh, received word that he would be absent.” Claude asked those present.

“He sent me a curt and unfriendly note saying he had business to attend to, and to proceed without his counsel.” Edmund informed him.

“Very well. Small Council is convened on this day, the 11th of the Blue Sea Moon, year 1183.” Claude announced. “Our only item of business today is the inquiry into Rowan Morley and his installment as a Great Lord.”

“About that. I would still advise we drop the inquiry. It’s bothersome, and it will only take up valuable time we could use to discuss the war along the borders without Gloucester’s damned prying ears.” It was the most coherent sentence Claude had ever heard Goneril utter: and he acknowledged the war openly. 

Lysithea was just as shocked. Noticing Claude’s discomfort, she played the ignorant Countess to bring them both up to speed.

“Pardon me. I must be misunderstanding, but I thought the consensus was that there was no war along the border?” Lysithea asked.

“Hah! Poor child; it’s fortunate you will not sit this council for long.” Goneril looked on her with pity. “We here know what is happening. Keeping the public quelled and confused is what is important now. Meanwhile, we make the best decisions to keep the war at bay. When Gloucester is not politely sabotaging them.”

“If Gloucester is a known liability, why not dismiss him?! Arrest him like you did my father!” 

“It’s not so simple; even your father would have been difficult to arrest if he resisted… I am sure you are aware now he was put into confine for his own protection?” Edmund added. “Gloucester is a formidable foe; the House and those loyal too numerous to route. Lorenz would simply take his place, with a vendetta no doubt, and the extended family would turn on us. Charlton Gloucester is… the predictable foe.”

“Why does their need to be any foe? Why not an ally? Wouldn’t Lorenz be better?” Lysithea was again seething at the injustice of a corrupt Lord given leeway to undermine the Alliance. 

“The Count is too powerful, for now. And we have no way of knowing what sort of character Lorenz is— he _is_ his father’s son.”

“Better than the Count.” Lysithea snapped.

Edmund and Goneril exchanged a look of unease, but even amid Lysithea’s outrage the mood was casual, almost friendly.

“What do you think, Your Grace? You have been hosting the young Lord Gloucester for some time now— even nursing him back to health in what I hear is record time.” Edmund asked knowingly. There was a solicitous smile across his face. “My husband Alphonse, do you know how I met him? I hosted his family during soiree season—”

“Lorenz is an upstanding young man!” Goneril cut him off, slapping his heavy palm hard onto the table; Edmund’s allusion to Claude’s relationship lost in his thundering words. “Rescued my daughter from some lecher who poisoned her drink, watched her though the night and carried her home on his back! That boy gets too much vitriol for being the son of a skink like Charlton! He’s frail— but I like that in suitors. Non threatening!”

“Why are we talking about suitors—” Lysithea complained before Claude stepped in.

“—This council isn’t for gossip. We should invite Morley in to avoid making him wait.” _Suitors? … No._ Claude put Goneril’s implied blessing for Lorenz far from his mind.

“You are right— we have pressing matters. But you might want to reconsider such a rigid stance for small council procedure. It helps ease the tension when certain parties are in attendance.” Edmund advised.

“Thank you, I will consider it.” Claude motioned to a guard, who brought Morley in from the hallway. _Even stay on schedule is 'rigid?' Maybe… maybe I should have let Morley sweat. Damn. _

“Good morning.” Morley greeted them. “It sounds as thought the council is already quite lively.”

“You could call it that. Unfortunately we must turn our attention to a more grave matter—” Claude began before he was cut short.

“I understand Your Grace, but I have an urgent matter needing the Council’s attention.”

“At least wait until I am done speaking before you interrupt.” Claude instructed him sharply. “This is your only warning.” Eyebrows raised around the table. Claude realized he let slip too much vitriol for the man; but he drew the line at being spoken over by a lower Lord. He could not be inflexible or a pushover.

They waited on Claude, looking on as he let Morley bite back his words for just a moment too long.

“You may continue.” He offered at last.

“… Apologies; it is just that the issue at hand has riled me. I would humbly request we defer this hearing for one of more monumental import, concerning my missing Goddaughters.” Morley asked, now guarded and serious. “Naturally, news spread that they were missing, captured by some bandits under the lax guard of the failing House Daphnel. I sent my own men out looking, corner to corner across Leicester. I am pleased to say that, since I did not spare any expense like House Riegan had, they were found not twenty four hours ago.”

It was worse than Claude could plan for. Morley had Dina and Gala brought into the room with a motion of his hand. Shaken, but healthy, they approached the table.

“I know this matter is usually deferred to an arbitrator, but in consideration of House Riegan’s involvement with their rescue and ties with House Daphnel— _and_ considering House Daphnel’s failure to protect them, I thought this would be appropriate. I would prefer to adopt them into House Morley—”

“Stop. We are getting ahead of ourselves, Morley. What happened to the criminals?“ Edmund demanded.

“They were only after a ransom from Daphnel. I paid for the girls release, and once safe, I dispatched the bandits to a watery grave.”

“Personally?” Goneril scoffed. Morley was slim; he was no warrior, or mage.

“With my ranks.” He clarified.

Each Lord preferred to be the primary policing force in their own county for reasons of propriety; to have Morley dispatching ‘bandits’ in Riegan was overstepping his bounds. Not that Claude ever believed there were bandits. If he knew less of the situation, he would address it directly: but with the children present and Morley suspected in Lorenz’s attack, Claude would have to let it go to pursue the long game. _Should have fudged the damned vote,_ he thought in passing.

“Anyone could suffer an ambush for ransom; that doesn’t make House Daphnel unfit.” Claude pointed out.

Morley was losing patience already, not one accustom to be challenged; Claude was not proceeding as his grandfather might, conceding based on Morley’s wealth and status and good reputation.

“Daphnel is in decline. I can offer them a future, especially now that I will sit on the Roundtable Council; I need an heir.” He did not specify that one of the girls would be his heir; his tone suggested he would still need to find… _make_ one. Claude could not imagine Morley was so selfless that he did not care to continue his bloodline. 

“Regardless of what you can offer them, or what they personally want, Jericho wished for them to join House Daphnel. Until they are of age, his wishes must be granted.” Edmund retorted.

“I understand the importance of legacy. I had… hoped to preserve the dignity of my dear friend Jericho and his late wife in their deaths… to spare Dina and Gala more heartbreak.” Morley looked around sympathetically. “But I feel this is in the best interest for Dina and Gala…” Morley drew his breath in, deep and dramatic, placing each hand on the girl’s heads.

“I am their real father.”

He said it without blinking, without any tell of body language that might reveal a lie.

“You have no way to prove it—” Claude rejected the claim.

“—You are admitting to an affair?” Edmund added.

They spoke at once. Dina and Gala did not seem as shocked by the revelation as they should— it seemed he prepared them for this eventuality. It made Claude’s stomach turn. 

“An affair sounds so offensive.” Morley chose to answer Edmund first. “All parties were in agreement. Mrs. Anderton was… A good and pious woman. Not unfaithful.”

“I’m not arguing for morality or fidelity. You simply cannot prove you are their father any more than Jericho—” Claude tried to regain control of the conversation.

“I can; it is proved by my shared crest with Gala.” Morley’s smile was sickening, triumphant even as he tried to feign humility. He held his hand aloft, revealing a Major Crest of Daphnel. “That is why, for the sake of Jericho’s family, I kept my crest secret. Should Gala’s crest be discovered, she could be traced back to me directly. There are no others who hold Daphnel Crest in Derdriu, and few in the broader Alliance. It would have shamed their family.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Claude tried again to find flaw in his claims. “Jericho is registered as a branch-descendant of House Daphnel and his grandfather bore a crest. You have no lineage.” This was one occasion Claude missed Gloucester’s sneering superiority; he wouldn’t accept such claims from someone without an extensive family history. He wished Gloucester was present for more reasons than support… his empty seat made Claude more nervous than Morley’s machinations.

“Yet here I am.” Morley gloated.

“Both daughters were registered with a crest; but you make it sound as if only Gala has one.” Claude caught him, he was struggling to keep his tone neutral and disinterested.

“… I am curious, Duke Riegan— I do not mean to sidestep whatever you are insinuating, but you are quite versed in Jericho’s personal affairs… how did that come to pass?”

“I have been hosting Lord Gloucester at the Riegan Estate. Jericho was an associate of his; Jericho sought him out for advisory on his daughter’s crests.”

“I see. I was under the impression that you and Lord Lorenz were at odds… strange that you should have such _intimate_ conversations.” Morley baited. But Claude was more than confident there were more rumors of disunity than an affair. Whatever Morley knew, it would be too little to threaten either of their reputation. 

“I would be a poor host not to invite a guest of my House to dinner. Whatever he prattles about between bites is just more information for me.” Claude deflected easily, painting his voice with disdain for Lorenz. “But I’m not the one being questioned. Both Dina _and_ Gala were registered with a crest.”

“A clever plot: to ensure they were protected equally. Jericho truly loved them as his own. Dina never had a crest.”

_‘As his own’—! Because they were his!_

Claude turned on the serious older sister. It was up to her; there was no argument he could make personally without revealing the Benettos strange rites: a beast Claude was not willing to expose. Yet. 

“Is this true? Did your father register a fake crest?” He did not expect her to answer truthfully. He was looking for fear, a pleading in her eyes for rescue— Morley had already subjected her to that strange rite, surely she wanted a chance to speak for herself; to escape. If he could just confirm she was afraid of him, it would be reason enough to question them privately.

“I never had a crest.” Dina answered plainly, stone faced, as Gala clung to her. She was as resolute as Morley. If Claude could describe her posture, he would call it relieved. “Daddy taught me to lie about it as soon as he realized Gala had a crest. In case someone found out.”

“I see.” His eyes bore into her, but she was of unwavering conviction. 

Claude laced his fingers in front of him, considering his options. The other Lords were just as lost for option, waiting for his leave.

“I have a proposal. Jericho’s Last Will, did it not have a co-signatory?” Morley asked.

“…Yes.” Claude answered. “Lord Lorenz.”

“Let us arrange to have him preside over the girl’s placement— at a time when he is recovered. I have heard of the brutal attack. Until such a time, as a probationary period to determine my fitness as a parent, they will reside with me. This will also keep them nearer to Derdriu.” Morley bargained. “Please, at least allow them time to recuperate from their ordeal before we begin pulling the like fighting dogs. Because I _will_ fight.” He pulled the girls closer to him— as if he truly cared for them.

“… Council?” Claude would simply tell him no; even return the children to the Riegan Estate. He was sure a little discomfort now might save them some uncertain trauma at Morley’s hands. Unfortunately the decision was not his alone. 

“I am convinced.” Edmund answered immediately. “All that is left now is to formalize his assertions on paper. He has all he needs as proof.”

“Aye, I’m of the same opinion. What are the wishes of a dead man? His daughters can speak too, can’t they? Do you want to stay with your Godfather?”

They both nodded vigorously. 

“Yes, sir.” Dina managed, remembering her manners in the face of the hulking Duke of Goneril.

“See, simple enough. We will ask Lord Lorenz to preside for formality sake, but I would strongly protest if he ruled in favor of Jericho’s Legacy.” Goneril warned. “Family should stay with family.”

“Countess Ordelia?” Claude opened for her opinion on the matter. 

Lysithea looked disturbed.

“Just because a child wants something doesn’t mean it’s what is best for them; children rarely have all the information to make the best decision, or they are backed into a corner. Despite what Lord Morley might assert, and what Miss Dina has been_ groomed_ to say, I believe we should consider this matter with utmost caution and neutrality, deferring to what Jericho knew to be the best choice for his daughters.” She turned on Morley personally. “That being said, this is a distraction from your inquiry, and attempt to paint yourself as a father-figure and not a man who dispatches his opponents.”

“Dispatched?! I have not ‘dispatched’—!” Morley’s voice rose. Edmund held his hand up to stop him.

“Countess, until evidence is presented, you should not express such accusations. It displays bias and if it happens again we can remove you from the inquiry.”

“You’re right, Margrave Edmund. Please forgive my outburst.” Lysithea apologized properly; she had put the idea into everyone’s head that Morley _killed_ his opponents, and that she knew something more. It would fester in their thoughts until he could be put to question for real, which she was certain would be a week or more: Morley was fishing for time to come up with excuses. His missing plaintiffs did not simply vanish by bureaucratic laziness like it might have under Oswald’s tenure; he didn’t plan for Claude to see through his act.

“Your commentary, Your Grace? You can agree with Countess Ordelia; wherein they will be taken into county custody and assigned a stranger to preside over their own rights; or we can send the girls on their way as they wish with your blessing.” Edmund led him. He was an expert orator: making one decision sound selfish, and the other decision the only compassionate choice. It was out of Claude’s hands: they were unharmed, and it gave him time to organize.

“Dina and Gala will stay with Morley, for now. His inquiry will be postponed so that he can prove his fitness as a guardian.”

“As a father.” Morley corrected.

“Small Council adjourned.”


	85. NO CHAPTER: UPDATE TIME

I meant to put this on a note on the last batch of chapters lol. I think I'm... 15-20 chapter from finishing? I said that 15 to 20 chapters ago ashkshdkfhl. I hope posting 5 chapters makes up for my 5 week absence V_V Bad times all around.

I am working on a few art exchanges, a zine piece, and a fic starring dancer!Linhardt and Seteth. Sunchaser is always first in my heart, but tying up the end is very difficult, so there may be long stretches in between as I decide how to best resolve the end! Thank you for sticking with me! 

I am VIBRATING AT A HIGH FREQUENCY TO START PART 2.

I also have 3-4 rarepair paralogues that tie in, giving some insight into what the other students were up to :) v excited.


	86. False Feelings

The morning was cool, for once, calm and restful despite the day that lay before Lorenz. Though he felt some apprehension for his plans as Claude left him just after sunrise, the gentle morning spent waking next to him and speaking softly between pillows only renewed his determination.

He would set aside his noble notions about proper fighting, just duels and gentleman’s conduct to preserve their temporary companionship. Even in the still morning air, his blood began to boil at the thought of how Alvina interrupted their hard-earned peace: all his hatred for Edelgard and Hubert was becoming concentrated on the traitorous maid. She represented all that had disturbed his life over the past years.

First he needed to find Morven.

Donning his bedroom attire, he made for his own suite: brushing Corliss aside as she came to check on his condition. In his room he found some clothes that were dispensable but dignified. His morning bath he would save for later— when he would need it. He set his armor out, but it would be too much for strolling the estate. It would cause suspicion for him to walk in it, or worse, make him look paranoid, a newly minted coward who clanked around even in his leisure for fear.

In the hall, without Lalia to lead him, or Claude to pull him around, Lorenz beckoned the first butler who happened by.

“Pardon me. Ser Morven, do you know where his suite is?”

“Yes My Lord, this way.” The butler made a u-turn from his prior duty to lead Lorenz down the stairs, down one hallway, and two turns…  
  
…Before Alvina spotted them.

“Up and about I see, My Lord! So glad to know you are doing so well.” She said cheerfully, stalking toward him and the nameless butler. “Where might you be going? I would be happy to accompany you; Claude did ask me to attend to your every need for the day.” She clapped her hands softly; the butler bowed to her seniority and left her to it.

“Your assistance is unnecessary.”

“I suppose you know the rest of the way yourself, then?” She giggled. “Morven’s room, isn’t it? Going to see your little paramour? How many is that now?_ Tsk tsk_.”

“It is none of your concern.” It seemed she would follow him relentless. In moment of clarity, Lorenz devised a deception that even Claude would be proud of: he realized he could seize on her assumptions. “What I do in my own time, apart from Claude is no one’s business.” 

He commended himself for his foresight: he was getting better at such games. He commended himself, also, for not losing temper and attacking her immediately. 

“It just so happens I was going to visit Morven as well!” She sashayed toward a narrow stairway. Lorenz was sure it was the direction the previous butler was leading him… but it was an ominous looking descent. “If you want to follow me, I would not mind!”  
  
Lorenz followed reluctantly. 

Counting the ways in which he had the advantage over her with each step… except she was too confident. He would not underestimate her.

“Claude thought you might try to meet with him. I was instructed to monitor you— so you would not do anything foolish. He’s under guard, you know.”

“I am aware.”

They arrived at a door far more stately than Lorenz would expect to find in a basement hall, flanked with four guards. He could feel some trace of magic: focusing, he recognized a sigil that seemed to be a semi-permanent silencing spell. Even invisible Morven could not hope to sneak out. His own magical might drained in proximity; as did his hope to gain Morven’s assistance.

But there was no one else. 

Alvina knocked, announcing their arrival before opening the door slowly.

“My Lord, Alvina. Come to visit me in my disgrace?” Morven greeted them from a wall of terrariums.

“Ah, I am only a spectator!” By her tone, it seemed Alvina did not suspect Morven. “Lord Lorenz would like a word with you, but I am meant to ensure you do nothing untoward— until your name is cleared at least. Don’t mind me!” She curtsied, then found a chair to perch in, watching like a hawk.

“It heartens me to see you are well enough to move about the Estate. Your color has fully returned.” Morven made small talk. He wracked his mind for some code Lorenz might recognize so they might speak with Alvina so close.

“Thank you Morven; I was eager to see you.” Lorenz responded softly. He brought his hand up to his chin, casting his eyes away from the wall of terrariums that held Morven’s attention. His natural confidence was muted; his voice shy and suggestive.

_Ah_, Morven caught his intention immediately. _A classic deception, the easiest. And a cruel one,_ he thought. Matching Lorenz’s body language, he drew closer; cutting his eyes at Alvina as if she were an intruder on their secret affair.

“I did not expect to have a guest.” Lorenz whispered, voice provocative and low. “I dreamed of you last night…”

Morven cursed his cleverness; he would die for Lorenz’s words to be genuine.

“I am sorry to be confined, My Lord. Pitiable we cannot spend the day together.” He straightened Lorenz’s rose.

“Yes… Claude will be gone until late in the afternoon, he said.” _We should take care of her before he returns._ Lorenz shifted closer, placing his hand on Morven’s chest. “I thought… maybe just after lunch… we might find some time.”

“For sparring?” Morven lay one deception over another.

“Yes. ‘Sparring.’”

“I am so tired of the training grounds. Not enough room.” _Her defense would be up_, Morven knew. It would be too obvious.

“Oh? I am sure you know a far better place.”

“… Deep in the gardens. The bit with the statuary. No one around. Plenty of _cover_.” Morven dropped his voice lower. “For sword crossing.”

“Hmhm. I thought you were particular with the axe?” Lorenz laughed gently. 

“My mistake. And you’ll bring your _lance_?” One his last word, he bumped his knee against Lorenz’s inner thigh.

“My lance… my _burning_ desire.” Lorenz twinged a bit at the cheap metaphor, running a knuckle beneath Morven’s jaw. _He should already know I mean to use fire, but I still want to caution him… Stay out of the way._

“If only we could.” Morven lamented as he leaned in Lorenz’s touch. How to get him from his confines remained unanswered. _Unless._ “…Oswald still holds some sway. I am sure if he knew I was being locked up, he would laugh through Claude’s paranoia. And he has no love for you; he would be glad to see you distracted from his heir.”

“Oh? I am not sure I can…”

Morven grabbed his chin, coming close to his face.

“Do I mean so little to you, you would let me languish to avoid a difficult conversation? Even one more moment apart from you tortures me.” 

He said the last line with such intensity, Lorenz had to pull back, thrusting Morven away, truly flustered. For a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for the solicitous butler.

“I-I will see.” Lorenz stuttered. “After the lunch hour. I promise.”

Lorenz tried to retreat. 

"Wait." Morven caught him again, this time at the waist, then turned back toward a nearby dresser. He grabbed what seemed to be a wooden stick from the detritus. "Hand me Thyrsus."

"I am not sure that I should..." Lorenz removed the wrathful relic from his satchel. "What is that?"

"A new handle. I had it made some time ago."

Looking closer, Lorenz could make out a filigree of flowers. It was not merely a 'stick,' but a carved staff handle, inlaid with something shining: perhaps bronze or copper. There were red-stain rosettes sporadically throughout the filigree, lacquered to shining. It was blackened in places to effect a cascading foliage.

"It's gorgeous." Lorenz gasped; easily riled by beautiful things. He held Thyrsus out readily for Morven to affix the new handle; after pulling out the remaining, splintered wood, he fitted the new handle in and wrapped it tightly with leather cording.

"You will need a more secure fastening, when you can take it to a worthy smith. This will hold it for present use."

When he was finished, Lorenz held Thyrsus carefully by it's new staff. He waved it. Then spun it to test it's hold: enough for now. Enough for the day's deadly task.

It was not just pretty: it lapped magic from his palms, feeding it to Thyrsus in a lacey ebb Lorenz could feel through his fingertips. If felt as gorgeous as it looked.

"Thank you." Lorenz offered, genuinely touched. Morven must have planned for it weeks ago, just after they met; the old handle did appear rather rough. He began to appreciate the depth of Morven’s sincerity… and pitied his devotion even more. "I, as well as my sons and daughters, and their children will treasure your gift for generations."

Morven bowed deeply.

"It is the smallest of gestures I can gift to you, my Lord."

Lorenz was able to tear himself away at last.

In the hall, Alvina followed Lorenz silently, until he was forced to ask her direction to Oswald’s suite.

* * *

Thyrsus hummed hotly at his back, emboldened by the upgrade, and just as impatient, as Lorenz traversed the Estate. The relic seemed to be catching his mounting fury like a lens; it was a wonder Alvina could not feel the hole they had already burned through the back of her head as she lead him about his business, conducting him rather professionally even as he made plans to end her within the coming hours.

A whisper began to hum from the relic.

Lorenz had heard it only once before, on another occasion when he would have preferred reckless vengeance: when they lost sight of the professor at the battle of Garreg Mach, her body pitched over a cliff. It was swift then, unexpected and tempting: urging him to waste what small power he held in his body to decimate whoever he could reach. Fortunately, Lorenz was well-versed at managing his hereditary hatefulness by then, resistant to the call for blood. Since that moment, he had a clear understanding how it could make people into beasts. 

After the tenth time deciding what way to best divide Alvina’s body, he felt more like a monster than a man. It did not discourage him. 

He snapped out of his fantasy to find they were already at Oswald’s door. Alvina spoke with the guard, who allowed Lorenz to enter after inquiring with the Duke. Alvina, however, was kept in the hall to his relief.

“Lorenz hrghg…” The Duke greeted him.

“Lord Oswald. I hope you are…” _Well_ seemed a tactless word, as the former Duke lay up on his couch looking more ill by the second. “I hope you are enduring.”

“What do you wanththGURHGHGh!”

Lorenz glanced toward the door: grateful Alvina was left out, but still wary she might be listening.

“If I might first ask… why neglect Alvina?” Lorenz asked. He hoped that he had another ally, that Oswald was aware. It would facilitate the coming conversation.

“That woman’s voice gives me the worst headache. I’ve enough… enough agony for now.”

“I suspect you find my voice just as grating.” Oswald laughed under his breath, until it became the low rumble of another cough. “I will be brief. Claude has put Morven up, for skepticism; I would have him released and you are the only one who can defy Claude’s paranoid command.”

“Is - HURGH!— Is that worth accosting me, boy?”

“It is important, more than I can explain just now.” Lorenz looked to the door again. He stepped closer to Oswald, trying to press his urgency into his whisper. “I must utilize his particular skills.”

Lorenz had never been left alone with the former Duke; his father or Claude managed their brief interactions. The healers, even, were absent. Lorenz felt very diminutive, childlike begging for Oswald to let Morven come out and play; aggravating the dying man who kept the Alliance together for nearly 50 years.

“I am sure everything you want is of utmost importance, badgering me for your convenience. Just like your father.” Oswald heaved into a handkerchief. “You’re lucky I cannot waste my breath— I might have feigned my hospitality, but I will not spend my last days in company with a Gloucester. Get out.”

Lorenz considered him with incredulity. This was not the same man who welcomed him to his dinner table over two weeks ago, not the man who he believed was… not _approving_ of him, but at minimum _indifferent_. Lorenz believed wholeheartedly he would have the opportunity for his actions to lend to his credibility, apart from his father’s reputation. He at least assumed that Claude had expressed his trust in Lorenz to his grandfather.

His naivete again caught him off-guard.

“I’m… sorry. For who my father is. I cannot apologize for his actions, only apologize for my association.” Lorenz had no manners left to spare. He grew indignant. “But he is not here: I am. Be as petty as you want in your old age, but at least believe me: Claude is in danger. I need Morven—”

“He killed my son, you know that?” Oswald interjected.

“Wh— M-Morven?!”

“Your father. I want you to know that when you look at him.”

For a moment, Lorenz was stunned. Worse, he did not doubt it. Oswald offered no proof; Lorenz had never heard such slander, but his word alone with his father’s other misdeeds gave the accusation a gravity that could not be dismissed.

Lorenz would have to consider it later.

“Your last remaining heir will fill his own mausoleum if you do not stop your self-pitying and see that Morven is allowed to aid me!” He said darkly. 

“Are you threatening my grandson?” 

Whatever ailed him did not stop Oswald from standing, and seizing an axe from the couch side. He was a very broad, very skilled man. Even ill, Lorenz had no doubt such an axe in his hands could cleave him in half handily.

“You senile fool!” Lorenz held his arms wide in surrender, panicked, backing away in deference “I am finishing the job you failed to do: your house is not yet routed of it’s traitors!”

This gave him pause. 

“Who?”

“To say would only ensure an attack.”

He stood tall, but his shoulders were beginning to sag.

“He put Morven up for a reason.” Oswald huffed. "Working behind his back... disgraceful..."

“By the time Claude returns from Derdriu, he will understand. Th-this obstacle is only because he is trying his damnest to protect me!” Lorenz reddened over the admission. “Like…like an idiot!” He added, trying to conceal the thoughts of Claude flooding his mind at such an inopportune moment.

Oswald returned to his seat, color drained. He breathed raggedly. 

“You owe him. You owe him, and you owe me for your father’s choices. Remember that. Swear your loyalty to your Sovereign Duke, and I might decide to believe you.” He pointed the axe from his seat.

It was too easy. It seemed out of place with Oswald’s hatefulness.

“…How do you know I will not lie?” Lorenz cautioned. 

“I am giving you a chance. I am… breaking the chain, you might call it: my last act to make up for my own heinous crimes over the years.” Oswald seemed defeated. The choice was difficult for him: trust Lorenz, who Claude kept as an adviser, or ignore some assassin running loose in the Estate. “I’m tired. At least make a promise to me.”

“No; I have no inhibitions about tying my fate with Claude’s, without hesitation. It is already done, I am already loyal, I do not need to declare it.” He said haughtily; any undue humility would seem suspicious coming from Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. “But if you need to hear it.” Lorenz took to one knee for the old man’s sake.

Surprised at Lorenz’s willingness, Oswald handed over his axe turning it pommel up and setting it’s tip into the deep carpet for Lorenz to swear on. 

“I, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, do swear an oath to aid and protect our Sovereign, Duke Claude von Riegan, until his reign has ended._” If this sort of outdated decree is what it takes._ At first he felt insincere, but the words echoed clear and noble in his ears. They sounded like lines from a knight's tale._ If only Claude could hear me, perhaps I should…_

It was quiet. Oswald did not seemed convinced, only more withdrawn. Lorenz stayed in his kneel, gazing into Oswald determinedly. He felt strangely beholden now, his oath spreading like fire in his chest.

When Oswald did not answer him, he redoubled his effort.

"I am an expert in pandering, but this is not my ego speaking; I am sincere in my—"  
  
“Bring the guard in.”

Lorenz jumped, and did as he was commanded. Alvina followed closely on the guard’s heels.

Oswald whispered to him, advocating for Morven's release.

“Thank you.” Lorenz was still reeling; he did not expect a minor request for Morven’s release to become a heart to heart. It felt like there was more to be said; he was standing in a secluded room with Oswald von Riegan. Among his final days, his heavy, storied axe in hand. Now that his urgency had diminished, it was humbling. 

When he opened his mouth to say something more, to seize on the historical moment, Oswald only waved him out of his room with one last sneer.


	87. Proposals

When small council dismissed, Morley lingered in the hallway, waiting for Countess Ordelia to emerge; Dina and Gala secured in a carriage outside. When she did, Cyril greeting her and following her lead, Morley fell into step with the lovely young Countess.

“Countess Ordelia, I would like to extend my sincerest thanks for your service. Though it will soon come to an end, you are admirably thorough in your position.” He simpered. “I am in awe at your wisdom despite your youth.”

“Don’t strain yourself; I’m against whatever you’re doing here.” Lysithea did not stop for him, or waste a glance. “I didn’t even vote for you.”

“Your opposition allows me to further prove my good intentions: a sort of baptismal fire, if you will. I am grateful for the opportunity. As for the vote, you chose your convictions. Everlionne is a respectable house, and I understand your wishes for stability.” Morley continued his ingratiating. “I can admit, as a candidate, I would seem a gamble to many.”

“That’s very kind of you. Do you need anything?” Lysithea stopped to address him, only so she might break away; it was time for them to go their separate ways; preferably Morley first, so he would not follow her.

“Only your consideration.”

“You already have my seat, there’s nothing else to consider.” She looked around absently for Catherine.

“There is; about your future. I would like to assure you that your home will always belong with the Ordelia family under my governance; your House will always remain esteemed and venerated likewise.”

“Oh, how generous. But I’m not going back to Ordelia, or our Estate. If you really wanted to do me a favor, you would burn it down.”

Morley was taken aback. Clearly he did not expect Lysithea’s bluntness to be turned against his charm. He tried again.

“I am… sorry to hear that. Perhaps, then, there is something else you might—”

“This conversation is over.” Lysithea turned to walk away before she could lose her temper, Cyril close at heel. Morley followed after her foolishly as she approached the exit.

“W-wait—! I can give you a new home; here, in Derdriu. In… in my estate.”

Lysithea said nothing. Catching back up to her, Morley dropped his voice: the lobby was empty, but the echoes carried.

“I desire to carry on the traditions, and the name of Ordelia. I am not so attached to my own name…” He whispered rapidly, as if offering him self to her was some rare treasure. “You could remain as Countess. Be my adviser in marriage, while staying out of the Roundtable yourself. Aid you friend Claude—”

“MARRIAGE?!?!” Lysithea shouted across the lobby; if only it were occupied so he might suffer _some_ shame. She turned and laughed in his face. “Ha! You’re out of your mind! I don’t want anything to do with it; does anyone ever listen to what I’m saying?! Get lost!”

Lysithea turned to walk away once more.

“You father’s trial is upcoming. I’m curious to know what information might turn up… I am sure his sources of funding could be easily traced. There may be more than he admitted. His crimes might be more serious… or at least seem so on paper.” Morley knew Emory was a master forger. Now that he was a pending Great Lord, he could pay the finicky man any price, even if he demanded more than cash. When Lysithea backed away in disgust, he seized her by the shoulder. “Marry me, and you won’t have to worry anymore. I’ll keep your parents safe, and you can bear children with the name Ordelia to carry on your legacy, with your crest—”

Before he could finish, Cyril stepped between them, delivering a clean uppercut to Morley’s chin.

“Keep you hands to yourself!” Cyril shouted, Lysithea pulling him away frantically.

“Urhgh! Guards!” Morley staggered, blood dripping between his hands as he clutched his mouth.

Squaring himself against accusation, Cyril stepped back into Lysithea’s pull as a city guard emerged from a nearby recess in the wall.

“What’s happened?”

“This vagabond assaulted me, I want him arrested!” Morley pointed a crooked, bloody finger at Cyril. 

The guard searched between Morley and Cyril and Lysithea. Noting Cyril’s foreign pallor and unmarked armor, the guard moved to do as he was told without question.

“I think not!” Lysithea stepped between them. “Cyril is my personal guard; he was defending me against assault per his duties!”

“Countess. I still must arrest him.” The city guard insisted dully.

“You’ll do no such thing! Appropriate procedure for a Knight or Squire of a noble House to to remand them to custody of their liege Lord until a formal investigation; you can’t arrest him for doing his job! That is unless Morley is to be arrested as well, for instigating him?”

“We cannot arrest a Lord, but a squire—”

“He isn’t a squire! He is a knight! I titled him under the banner of House Ordelia when I arrived in Derdriu more than a week ago!” 

Cyril was bewildered for a moment; no such thing ever occurred. He recounted the days in his mind; but there was no way he could forget something so important. Lysithea was lying to the city guard, and abusing her position to do so. It felt wrong in his gut; the guard only trying to do his job to keep the city safe... But if was arrested now, it would delay his search for Lady Rhea.

“Countess Ordelia is my Liege Lady.” He confirmed solemnly. _Sorry, Lady Rhea._

“Uh. Ah. Right.” The guard bowed, apologizing profusely to Morley. “My Lord, I can direct you to a healer, but your dispute will need to be settled through arbitration.”

“I will ensure it is _settled_ soon enough.” Morley threatened.

After he walked away with the guard, Lysithia sagged in relief and burden. 

“Cyril.” She started in stern, prepared to scold him. 

“Yes, Lysi— Countess Ordelia?” 

She sighed.

“Thank you.” She said. Cyril beamed. “But next time, let me handle any Lords. Now we have to get you out of the city.”

Catherine entered from the street, come to join them for the return to Riegan Hall. 

“Hey kiddos, what did I miss?”

* * *

Claude, closed in his ready room with Devar and Galen nearby, sorted through the information he meant to present against Morley: 11 plaintiffs, five dead, three actively missing, two unaccounted for, and one paid. It was suspicious, but no hard proof. He had yet to tie any of the deaths or absences to Morley, and it would be nearly impossible to do so. Any paper trail he found could be accused of forgery if no one was witness. The inquiry would flop under the bureaucratic indifference of Edmund and Goneril, especially considering their bizarre sympathy with Morley and his ‘daughters.’ 

Lysithea would side with him. It would come down to Count Gloucester returning to break the tie. Having alienated everyone on the table, his choice was unpredictable: before he would side with Edmund out of spite for Claude, but those ties had been severed. _Though he still seems to prefer Edmund over the rest; he sent him a letter about his absence._

He loosened his collar in frustration, searching for some pattern yet unseen.

A stern knock came at the door. Galen answered it, Devar poised in defense. 

“Welcome, Margrave Edmund.” Galen greeted him.

“Good afternoon. I would like to speak with Duke Riegan.”

After a curious glance, Claude waved him in, tightening his cravat once more.

“Edmund. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” He asked, standing to greet him.

“I had hoped we could have an amiable conversation. I know so little about you; few do. May I have a seat?”

“Please.” Claude seated himself likewise. He liked Edmund so far; even his suggestive tone at the Roundtable concerning Lorenz was more friendly than hostile. Edmund _understood_. “You’re not the first to pry, but you’re definitely the most pleasant about it.”

“Ahah, prying. I suppose that is what all familiarity is; seeing how deep you can dig before you hit resistance.” He relaxed into the chair. “I have spent so many afternoons and evenings speaking with Old Oswald like this; and Godfrey, for his short and tragic reign. You do not share their likeness; but you do have Tiana’s lovely green eyes.”

“Tiana? My distant aunt? I’ll have to remind you, I call Oswald my Grandfather for familiarity: he’s actually a distant Great Uncle—” 

“I am not threatening you, and there is no need to pretend; I know that she married into a noble House… elsewhere. Bearing a son.” Edmund leaned forward. “I understand you are distrustful; that is wise. You might ask Oswald for confirmation before his time with us comes to and end, but I would like to make it clear to you, Duke Riegan: I am careful about my neutral airs, and I play devil’s advocate to seem magnanimous. But I am typically inclined to the preferences of House Riegan, and prefer to keep secrets for myself. We should become more familiar for that reason, at least: to share in our goals for mutual benefit.”

“I see. I will speak with my grandfather.” Claude considered him for a moment. “If you’re really inclined to the ‘preference of House Riegan,’ you could change your opinion about Morley.”

“I could, but I take the subject of heirs very seriously. I should amend my statement; I find House Riegan most often works in the favor of the broader Alliance, and those are the decisions I lead with. I will follow your lead if you continue to do so. I am not a show horse, however.” Edmund smiled sympathetically at Claude’s misunderstanding. “Morley’s custody hardly affects national affairs.”

“Even if he’s lying? Even if he’s cruel and perverted?”

“I saw no evidence of that. Those children were not fearful.” Edmund leaned forward. “Would you like to enlighten me?”

For a moment, Claude considered it. If only much of Morley’s plot was not tied to the Benettos; information Claude entrusted to no one. He feared that if word of their ability became common knowledge, it would upset the careful balance of power. Much as he wanted to trust Edmund, he was forced to leave him in the dark.

“I see.” Edmund said when Claude did not answer directly. ”I suppose confidence is a bit too much to ask so soon.”

_Seems he is intent on keeping our ties amiable._ Claude was relieved. _Thank goodness— at least one Lord who isn’t so easily offended. _

After an uncomfortable moment passed between them, Edmund continued the conversation in stride.

“You know Marianne’s opinion of you is astounding. She is so reclusive, I consider this particular judgment with great distinction: she may be mentally unsound but her observations are keen. If you might, should women maintain… well, I should say a portion of your attraction, consider her hand. Or perhaps her surrogacy, otherwise.”

“Straight to the point. Marianne is very kind, and more capable than you are willing to admit, Margrave Edmund. But I’m sure you understand that it is inappropriate for me to consider marriage right now.”

“I understand that is a politician’s response… and that of an enamored man. Godfrey used that excuse until he died, dallying with a certain commoner all the while refusing to produce an heir.” Edmund advised. “Just a warning of wisdom.”

“Godfrey has nothing to do with me; never met him. And what does Marianne think of you offering her up like a bargaining chip?”

“She is obedient: that she speaks so highly of you is the closest to confirmation I have ever had that she maintains any interest beyond damned _horses_. I am seizing the opportunity to secure a future for my _unique_ daughter; as it is, she cannot see beyond her immediate circumstances. I believe that will change with marriage.”

“Or just having a baby, if marriage isn’t an option?” Claude challenged.

“All women want children; offspring are a balm for the female soul. A child would allow her to put things into perspective and quit being so selfish in her self-loathing. She merely needs to feel useful. There is no higher position she could hope to hold as wife or surrogate to the Duke: as it is, in her current condition, she is little more than a vessel.”

Claude _thought_ he liked Edmund. He was an ally, but moving forward Claude would need to keep his political opinion and personal opinion separate for their dealings to remain civil. 

“There are too many complications that would arise from a Roundtable marriage.” He tried to end the conversation. 

“That will not be a problem: as it is, Marianne has no hope of holding the seat. I have had to consider finding another heir. There are so few candidates in House Edmund…”

The way Edmund spoke, his sentiments about _finding_ heirs and women’s _usefulness_ was not far from Morley’s own tepid opinions. He had only his record of support for House Riegan and a history of sound decisions to set him apart. It was a sore spot for Claude: considering his own attempts to make a husband of another Roundtable heir. Lorenz was right… what would they do with two seats and no children?

Claude’s mounting disgust got the better of him.

“I must say, Edmund, you have revealed an astounding flaw. You might be able to reason well enough on your own, but if you can’t educate your own daughter, I will just have to watch more closely to ensure you can even properly lead a county. Oswald let a lot slip during his later years.” Claude stroked his jaw in consideration. “And it’s clear Marianne is wasted under your failed tutelage, possibly weakening the future of the Leicester Alliance. Maybe you should consider bringing in an outside tutor in governance and oration so your own faults don’t poison her sure success. She flourished under Professor Eisner at the Academy, so the flaw must be in your House. I am sure my grandfather has a few he can recommend.”

Edmund was clever enough not to argue. But there was a muscle flexing in his jaw and a vein pulsing beneath his receding hairline.

“I appreciate your concern, and I will welcome Oswald’s recommendation.” Edmund inclined his head politely, standing and making his way from the room as rapidly as he could without revealing his embarrassment. “Good day, Duke Riegan.”

“Ugh.” Claude said aloud as he slid back in his seat. I haven’t seen Marianne, really, since the Academy. _She doesn’t write. Now I have to send someone to ensure she isn’t being… mishandled. Or I could see to her myself. I do need a vacation after this._

“Do you need something, Your Grace?” Galen asked from his post, noting Claude’s irritation.

“Less deplorable nobles in my life.” He set up. The guards looked at each other awkwardly.

“Sorry, your grace.” Galen answered bluntly. “I meant assistance, or tea.”

“No; no…” He waved his hand.

While trying to make some sense of the mess on his desk before returning to the Estate, Claude returned to his thoughts on Morley. Something was nagging at him, a detail out of place that the shock of seeing a rescued Dina and Gala had over shadowed. But fatigue was setting in and he could only think of Lorenz: their night together, how he would soon see him off, weeks away by horse.

_Lorenz. It seems everyone has their own version of rumors— Morley, Edmund. Goneril, probably, Hilda runs her mouth so much. How is it that Lorenz was brought up in small council twice? No… three times. He’s Jericho’s co-signatory. What is Morley’s goal involving Lorenz in the dispute with the girls? Lorenz would never agree to it; shouldn’t he know that? Morley would know at least that much… unless… he had some way to force Lorenz to agree._ Claude realized too late what Lorenz was hiding from him. _Who? Morven? No, Lorenz was eager for his guard… Amory? Someone else?!_

Claude stood slowly from his desk. 

“We’re leaving. Back to the Estate.” Was all he managed of command while contemplating his first assassination as reigning Duke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, finishing this is hard! I'm not tired of writing, I've just discovered endings and wrap-ups are my weakness.
> 
> I also have fight scenes to write and I have *no* idea how to T^T struggling through this last little bit. It seems to be getting muddy again. I will persevere!


	88. Underestimation

  
Alvina stayed with Morven and Lorenz, as intended. They made a show of sparring: an excuse to take weapons about the grounds without suspicion, to warm up, and try to form some plan even under her watchful eyes. While Morven lectured Lorenz on how to best his opponent, Lorenz took certain gestures to mean _one opponent specifically_. Alvina was nearby, but her attention was distant. Their act was boring her and it bought them precious time to plan. She did not notice that they decided to begin each fight with a hand signal; that Lorenz reacted to Morven’s axe as though it were a knife instead; or any of the other tiny tells that this was no ordinary session.

Morven allowed himself to be disarmed as the sun rose to it’s zenith; Lorenz’s moves becoming too sloppy in his impatience to continue their mock-fighting. 

“Good. We are finished, for now, but remember: hesitation is death.” Morven insisted darkly. “Do no hesitate, for friend or foe… Shall we take lunch?”

“In the Garden?” Lorenz grumbled through heavy breaths, sweat beading across his flushed and vicious countenance. His eyes darted to Alvina briefly.

“Yes, I have already arranged for a meal to be brought to us.” Morven came close to Lorenz, turning on his last step to try and dismiss the maid. “Miss Alvina, I had hoped you would become bored with our training, so I will say it flatly… I can attend Lorenz in the garden_ alone_.” He lay his hand thoughtfully on Lorenz’s arm. Lorenz thought such a deflection was risky, that she might take him up on it. It lay the deception thicker, yes, but what if she did not accompany them? Their time was running short.

Alvina was the bratty and stubborn sort, however.

“Attending Lorenz is my only duty today, and you know how Lord Claude— the Duke gets when Lorenz is involved. I would prefer to keep him nearby… If I mess this up, Duke Riegan will scold me.” She said shyly. “I’m sorry master Morven… I know it is Maid’s Honor not to be privy to affairs. But not this time. I’m sorry!” She bowed her head apologetically. 

Morven grunted as if irritated.

“Very well. But you say_ nothing!”_ He snapped. 

“Yes!” She squeaked. “Nothing at all!”

Even if it was only an act, Lorenz enjoyed seeing the roles reversed: Alvina being threatened to keep her mouth shut.

Toward the garden, and Alvina’s demise, Lorenz nearly outstripped Morven with his eager stride.

* * *

They arrived in the garden center, too lush and welcoming for the carnage to come. The air was fragrant with myriad wildflowers at their peak, a lazy hum of buzzing as various bees tended their garden. It was inviting, peaceful; wanting for naps or afternoon trysts, not bloodshed. The grass was picturesque perfect; to mar it would be like soiling a priceless Brigid rug. It was soft underfoot, begging for quietness and ease. 

The heady afternoon heat did not help. On any other day, it would lull anyone to a sedative calm after such a strenuous morning. For a fleeting moment, Lorenz was overcome with the image of Claude, lain in the grass with strawberries and cream, Morfis plums and little else. It threatened to soften his mood. 

He shook the fantasy away: promising himself such a future might lay ahead, but only if he ensured Alvina could not interrupt it with her vile threats.

It was Lorenz’s turn to try and put the maid off, to lower her guard once more.

“You may leave, Alvina, I am well attended; per Oswald’s gracious allowance to lend me Morven. I will tell Claude myself I outmaneuvered you. It will be no fault of your own.”

She did not take Lorenz’s insistence to be as flippant and casual as Morven’s. He knew her identity; surely he was not so comfortable with her already, that he was more concerned with an affair than her threat? Her left eye twitched in irritation.

“Claude is Duke, and Duke Riegan is the House Head now. I must take my orders from him, despite Oswald’s blessing. My apologies again, Lord Lorenz.” She curtsied, playing nice only for Morven in audience, but with bite on the heel of each word.

“Are you going to watch, then?” Morven asked as he stepped suggestively into Lorenz’s space. He did not look to her; instead looking deep in Lorenz’s eyes. It was no secret code or predetermined sign: his eyes simply said ‘ready yourself’ as he brushed back a strand of hair affectionately. Lorenz knew where his lance was. Careful not to look toward it, he stared back just as intensely. He would start looking for the same mark that started each of their rounds on the training ground.

“If I have to watch, so be it.” Alvina blushed on cue, fanning her fingers over her eyes like a shamed child. She continued in character, not realizing the curtains were already down. “Would rather not. Can you please have just a picnic today?”

Morven did not answer. 

He hesitated. 

_We_ could _start now_, he thought responsibly. But there was a moment, a chance, he felt, to seek compensation for his assistance: _which I might not survive_, he reasoned. 

Morven turned back to Lorenz. Nervous, Lorenz glanced at Alvina, wary of what was to come next. He was following Morven’s lead entirely now, at his mercy. He could not resist. Lorenz was cornered, and had played his role far too well.

Morven smiled mischievously, before guiding Lorenz into a deep kiss— and it had to be convincing. The young Lord could not flinch or push him away this time; and he was a fine actor. Though there was a flash of rage, a threat in his eyes, and a scoff Morven could taste in the back of his throat, Lorenz leaned into the embrace, wrapping his arms fully around him; to what end, Lorenz was unsure. He only followed lead, desperate to do anything that would bring them closer to Alvina’s defeat. 

Making a point of her presence to discourage them, Alvina stared and hummed in displeasure. “Gross!” She announced.

After a few intoxicating moments that raised the days heat higher, Lorenz pushed Morven away: gentle as he could despite his rage.

“I suppose we have no choice. Just a picnic then. Pity.” Morven said as he drew away. The basket brought to them appeared, conveniently, while no one was looking: behind Alvina, atop of a long-dried birdbath.

As Morven passed, he turned behind her back.

Signaling Lorenz, he drew his axe in one swift motion—

—And pounced on the traitorous maid from behind. 

She whipped about, catching him with the same tri-bladed sai, conjured from nowhere. 

“Rrgh!” Morven growled as she caught him. “You will regret not letting me end you quickly!” He barked, bearing down into her resistance instead of glancing off of her defense.

She only laughed.

“Oh you little brat: you told, didn’t you?” 

  
* * *

Alvina shouldered Morven off of her, Lorenz drew up his lance. He had no concern for his own life, protected by his father’s name; but watching her body take up fighting form made clearer the threat she presented. If she was not killed, if they failed, she would not retreat without blood in revenge. 

Morven was just as forfeit as Hilda and Claude.

For a horrified moment, Lorenz believed they underestimated her. He put on a false bravado and threw himself into the fight.

Alvina glanced to the side of the yard backed by thick hedges; cornered by the two of them, her demeanor was still playful. 

“Well that’s enough of this cumbersome form!” A ripple of magic desisted, and someone entirely new stood in Alvina’s wake: a brown haired, red-eye woman of the same pale complexion as the Benettos. “My name is Nirna! I can’t kill you Lorenz, but cutting your tongue out might keep you from repeating the same mistake!” She quipped gleefully.

Lorenz did not bother with her commentary: he had spent enough time being goaded and mocked. He could scarcely hear her through the pounding blood in his ears, through Thyrsus hissing to be wielded. 

_Not yet_. Lorenz bargained, imagining the weapon could hear him and pushing back against it’s demands. They circled Nirna, who did not bother to take a defensive posture. She tossed her sai about playfully, walking along the hedge wall. 

“Two men, ganging up on a poor lowly maid? _Pathetic_…” She looked between them, locking eyes with Lorenz. “After I kill this overzealous butler, when I knock your senses from you, I’ll sing you to sleep with the travesties I’m going to wreak on your little pink girlfriend!” She cackled.

Despite her taunts, she did not move first. Whether it was defensive or a lure was unclear.

Morven signaled Lorenz the same way he had before: they both drove toward her, a feint, to force her to move. She chose to bound in Lorenz’s direction, believing him to be less skilled; wheeling his lance around from his initial jab, he proved her ignorant, clipping her forehead as she dropped out of his sweep— 

— And rolled under a downward blow from Morven’s axe. 

She touched the scrape across her forehead barely bloodied, chortling while dancing back toward the center of the garden.

“Is that all?” She teased as they made to surround her again, Morven making and arc away from Lorenz. “Such pitiful, predictable maneuvers. Are you going to flank me? Surround me? Oh no, please. Not standard tactics. I’m _terrified_!”

Lorenz rushed her: there _was_ little he could surprise her with. It was his job to strike at her, so Morven could utilize his various advanced and foreign stances. 

She turned away from Lorenz’s thrust, back facing him; even as he pivoted the blade back onto trajectory, she batted it aside with her sai, all while keeping Morven in view. 

“A lazy decoy even.” She hopped out of reach. “What do you have planned Morven? One of your little techniques from your books?”

Morven leapt forward, arms raised for an overhand blow; before his body seemed to shift a foot to the right. Nirna’s eyes widened: that _did_ surprise her.

but not quite enough: without flinching, she adjusted quickly to dodge him.

“Illusion? You’re so desperate already!” She seemed delighted at the turn so early in battle. Her own body lilted for a moment before she appeared some ten feet away. “I was going to at least pretend to fight fair, but let’s hurry this along then!” 

_She’s matched to Morven. Goddess._ Lorenz realized as he tried to predict Morven’s next moves.

They were both fast, well-trained, but coordination was lacking: Lorenz never did get a read on Morven’s Dagdan technique. Combined with the minor illusions, Lorenz’s position was helpless; the discordant shift of bodies randomly to any given point gave him an unrelenting vertigo. With his lance, he could only fill the gaps in between Morven’s attacks. He felt like a child with a wooden toy, running round the feet of two _real_ knights as they battled fiercely.

After several advances and retreats, he noted Nirna was simply faster: lithe, a single target instead of two. She had twice as many openings to catch and mistakes to exploit.

When they tried to move wide, making room for Lorenz to cast, Nirna gave chase to Morven. _She’s ensuring she is near to one of us at all times, keeping tight._ Lorenz noticed. _She knows I cannot focus my greater spells so narrowly._ Morven never stayed apart from Lorenz longer than necessary for their attempts: with Nirna’s ability to shift and no one at Lorenz’s back, his every side was open.

_Morven could take a hit._ Lorenz thought reluctantly. _If she would move just _so_ that Morven would only catch the edge of my attack, I could do it; but I would need time, to drop my lance and seize Thyrsus before she becomes aware of my movements._

The chance never arose: any moment she was engaged with Morven, she always spared a glance for Lorenz and fell back to rain blows over him: just long enough that he could not consider exchanging his metal lance for a wooden staff. He blocked and batted; pulled back and pressed forward; lunged then sliced to the left, then cut up; wheeled his lance around at the last moment to try and catch her with the pommel. Nothing landed. The initial cut on her forehead mocked him: he had not landed another single blow.

Ten minutes in passing, which felt like ten hours, he was becoming impatient as Thyrsus. 

Nirna shifted back to Morven as he came to Lorenz’s aid. Just before she demanded his full attention, Morven caught Lorenz’s gaze: _soon_. The time between her shifts were becoming farther and farther apart. Magic had it’s limits, and Morven was reaching his; surely her reserves were wearing thin as well. 

Lorenz waited, circling widely, as Morven drew Nirna away again. He was either feigning fatigue, or it was genuine: she drove him back viciously for a harrowing moment. Lorenz tightened his stalk, watching as Morven was being boxed in… and believing if he could just exchange spots with Nirna, they would have the advantage. It was possible; he hoped he was reading Morven correctly.

When Morven blinkered, appearing behind Nirna and flanking her opposite, Lorenz burst with excitement: _almost_.

They boxed her in toward a divot the hedge wall where a centerpiece once stood. The scuff of her shoes across the ancients bricks as she backed in sounded like cowering to Lorenz's satisfaction.

“Think you have me cornered, don’t you—”

Morven dropped his axe in it’s holster; with one swift motion, he drew knives from his vest: more than he could possibly hold or carry reasonably without being noticeable. An incredulous number of knives that made Lorenz question his eyes and his sanity.

Morven released what was a barrage of too many, too-accurate knives, spaced a bit to evenly and weighted wrong; not that Nirna had the luxury of contemplating their physics while they were barreling toward her. 

_Ah! Another illusion—_ Lorenz concluded dully. 

She dodged as she could, but the knives were cast wide and she faltered in a moment of indecision of the best way to flee.

The one that mattered struck true: one of three real knives, out of twenty vanishing illusions, lodged in her neck.

Lorenz dropped his lance, taking Thyrsus to wield. 

When Nirna turned to check him, unconcerned with the bloodless knife sheathed in her trachea, Morven advanced on her— 

—She pulled out his own knife to turn it on him.

Morven bared his teeth in triumph: no matter how difficult to read, any enemy would attack when cornered and injured. He pulled the knife into him, taking her wrist and her arm with him as it plunged beneath his collarbone. 

In her shock and struggle, Morven kicked her in the stomach, forcing her back, off balanced for the first time. 

“Now—!” He shouted.

With Thyrsus humming in his palms, all the rage the wracked his body swarmed into the staff, a prism to his malice, which drained him of misery as well as magic, and gave back only the relief Thyrsus himself felt at being wielded for bloody purpose. Lorenz felt peace the moment before he issued the killing blow.  
  
“_ArcusFuir!”_ Lorenz commanded the flames, his confidence in their power washing him in macabre joy. 

She was not as staggered as she seemed. Though Morven jumped back to prepare for Lorenz’s casting, she followed after.

The words were already loosed. 

While the air crackled and sparked, stirring to the call of command, Morven managed to bury his axe in her side— 

—It stopped her only long enough to allot him a few steps back, before they were both engulfed.


	89. Wildfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: description of violence, gore  
I forgot to put a CW on this when I posted it days ago x_x I feel bad but I've been out of my head a bit >_< Sorry!

“MORVEN!” Lorenz begged for answer from the flames.

He was wary enough that he did not rush to aid, and ruthless enough that he did not douse the flames: any creature that could brush off a knife in the neck wouldn’t be bothered by a few seconds boiling, he imagined. Morven was dead if he was burned, and dead if Nirna lived.

“MORVEN!” He could only shout while he held concentration; fire was not forgiving to negligence. But there was still a chance his eyes were faulty, and Morven was yet behind the growing vortex. “ANSWER ME!”

He waited, but all he could hear was the roar of his carefully managed flames. It was in his ears, eyes and heart, all cascading through his hands to create the wretched scene before him. 

_I didn’t hesitate_, he consoled himself. 

He heard something. It was a whine, a taunting sort of keen.

Even through the flames, the crackle and crumble of her skin, with an axe buried in her, Nirna managed to laugh.

To move according to her own will.

To seize a cherry hot knife from the wreckage of her body, and sling it with such control that it buried itself directly into Lorenz’s hip. 

“Ghagh!” It was just enough to break his concentration. The flames whipped and twisted themselves until they petered out. The black husk stood pulsating, swaying as Lorenz stumbled back defensively.

“Lorenz!” Morven shouted, dry and forced. He struggled from the hedge behind Nirna, where he had been thrown back by the force of magic… but not before suffering grievous burns that consumed his right side. He staggered, circling back to Lorenz, guard up as much as he could managed with a seared arm tucked into his side. “Lorenz… are you alright?” 

“Yes. Nngh.” He pulled the knife out, stuffing the hole in his trousers with a handkerchief. He limped his way to Morven, eyes on the husk. Braced against one another, backed against a crumbled statuary, they watched Nirna struggle with her last breaths.

Except she was not faltering. This was a monster, disguised as a human, disguised as a maid: the crust of her human form sloughed off to reveal one of those pale, deathly-pallored creatures Lorenz had seen two years ago.

“Aww. You thought it would be so easy…” Her voice crackled with chords not yet recovered. The cold and graveled rasp had abandoned all her former feigned sweetness. “Poor Lord… you did good though. Not supposed to kill you, but you’ve earned it, I think.”

When the foul creature straightened and stretched, the last of her blackened form falling away, an untouched and voluptuous female thing emerged. Like Monica.

Like Kronya. 

“Mmm that feels good.” She picked her sai up from the detritus around her. “Now. I’m tired of playing.”

Lorenz grit his teeth. Thyrsus pulsed in time with the wound in his hip, feeding from the pain, growing more depraved and unwieldy. It was ripe with power Lorenz had never felt before, fury tinged with euphoria, it told him to _let loose_. _End her as you intended; before was merely a drop from the vast ocean of our power._

Morven pulled him back to reality.

“Run my Lord. Seek help.” 

“No.” Lorenz shoved him away.

“I did not mean from the woman: drop Thyrsus, quickly!” Morven cried. “It’s a wretched, cursed item. Run away from it!” He pulled at Lorenz again. The very air bit at him, tinged by the magic the staff was disseminating. The garden filled with smoke as it withered in response; the hedges surrounding them took to burning, every leaf curling around the edges with unbidden embers. The grass blackened and crumbled beneath them.

Lorenz did not respond; he set Morven hard against the statuary before turning to stalk toward Nirna. 

“Stop…” Morven reached out once more, but swooned for a moment in his anguish. His vision blurred as a breeze blew over his exposed burns. It would need to be quick, it would need to be now if he was going to stop him. “Urghh! You leave me no choice.” 

Lorenz did not bother to turn to his defense as Morven charged, cramming his hand under the base of Lorenz’s skull. 

“_As I See,_” Morven uttered a simple but effective illusion which should have blinded Lorenz momentarily, enough to dissuade him. 

The foreign magic— never countered owing to it’s novelty— rebounded. Crawling and twisting through Morven’s remaining good arm was the distinct sensation of vines, like a new rose thicket with needle-like spurs that grew through each of his veins, until they were grown thick with hardened thorns. 

“HNNNnn!!!” Morven whined like a child, recalling the same sensation as when his own magic was out of control. It was an excruciating pain he had not felt at the hands of another; opponents were usually bound by a code of noble conduct. Rarely so cruel.

Morven crumpled on the ground. He looked between Nirna, to Lorenz, and back. Nirna would die, there was no doubt. But would Lorenz burn out soon after? He could not afford to weaken Lorenz while she was still prime and preying.

He would have to stop Nirna before Lorenz did.

Morven loathed to expose himself; to allow Lorenz to witness him using such inhuman methods, but modesty was no longer an option.

“_As I Command, You Will Witness!_” Morven threw his hand out toward Nirna; enough to draw the unbridled Lord’s attention. 

“Wh— wh… rrraaaargggh!” Nirna dropped to her knees, clutching her head. “ SCCCRAAAAAAA!!!! NOOOOOOO!!! AAAGHGH!”

Lorenz watched with disinterest. He returned to take Morven up by his collar.

“You interference is too merciful. Draw off your magic.” Lorenz demanded in offense.

“I’m sorry my Lord, I know you wanted to end her properly. But… T-this will have to do.” Morven broke in a cold sweat, his attention spread to thin between the magic, the pain, and the articulation. “Please.”

“THE LIGHT! HELP ME!” Nirna carried on.

Lorenz continued his indifferent stare. He watched her scream and crawl for several minutes while crouched next to Morven, before coming to his senses. 

Horror dawned on him.

“What’s happening? What have you done?” He asked more precisely now, fear in his voice.

“You once mentioned you did not believe illusion was any use in battle. This is a demonstration.” Morven tucked his burned arm closer: the threat was gone, his adrenaline ebbing, and the familiar sensation of seared flesh was becoming noticeable. The injury vied with the remaining tendrils of the rebound magic and his concentration. 

Nirna ran circles; she screamed at nothing; she fell and she struggled. It seemed she had dislocated one of her arms. The terror on her face painted a gruesome picture of what she might be witnessing… all in her mind.

It went on too long. 

Lorenz could not comprehend what he was seeing, for a time. After mere minutes, Nirna was frothing at the mouth from the breath she no longer had, wheezing in a mixture of fear and agony. Painful scraping noises escaped her lips where she could no longer scream.

“Enough!” Lorenz shouted at Morven when he found his voice.

“Of course My Lord.” The woman stopped struggling at last, still looking around, searching for the nightmarish visions that would surely return. She started laughing maniacally, bursting into tears with each heave of breath.  
  
Morven wilted in place, losing conscious. 

It was only Lorenz and Nirna left now. He took up his lance, approaching her like one would a wyvern. 

While he thought Morven’s methods were bordering on evil, it did not abate his own hatefulness. He was squeamish at the sight, but given a thicker skin he might have let her suffer.

“The illusion is over.” Lorenz made it clear. He lifted his Lance, ready for a clean thrust. “I want you to see your end coming.” 

He waited quietly for her frantic eyes to roll over to him. He skewered her just as the realization dawned on her: she seemed to have gone mad, but not enough that she did not fear her mortal end. Shaking shoulder to shin, eyes fixed on Thyrsus, Nirna drew a final rattling breath. 

One tidy wound would not be enough, Lorenz feared. He sorted through the sloughed skin for Morven’s axe, finding it still hot to the touch. It burned his hand as he wielded it… but he was ready for it to be over. A little searing was nothing. After five savage blows, her body was disavowed of her head. He continued still, striking at her every joint, unsure of the creature’s capabilities: if she could resist fire, mortal blows, surely being beheaded alone was a trifle. 

His duty seen to it’s end, Lorenz dropped the axe by Morven’s side, where he stood to wait: stunned and disturbed. He watched the pile of flesh, his work, for any sign that it might breath again… instead, it withered, becoming like ash and beginning to mist into the wind, a fine dust.

Several days tension fled from Lorenz’s muscles to know it was truly over. 

Guards swarmed the garden, drawn by the smoke of the withering hedges, and a wyvern screeched in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the fight scene was good?! I never wrote anything like that lolol. That's one loose end tied up, now let's see if i can end it in under fifteen chapters like I said I would 30 chapters ago :))))))


	90. Smoldering I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been too loooong! I have bitten off more than I can chew with art/fics, and I have gotten sick again, and took a real vacation into the middle of the woods! F3H Wank Week esp took a lot out of me, and the RarePair Big Bang is coming to a close, where I am doing to two illustrations (Marianne/Lorenz and Hapi/Linhardt), one official fic (Linhardt/Seteth), and one bonus fic (Ignatz/Ferdinand)!
> 
> Thank you for your patience! I still think of Hilclaurenzeleth every night as I drift to sleep!
> 
> I am powering through this!

The garden was blackened all around. 

The pale blue torso and it’s scattered limbs caught Claude’s eye first even before he landed: through the smoke, the corpse glow like a beacon as guards gathered around with a set of heavy crates. His relief Lorenz was not the one sprawled on the lawn was overshadowed by his apprehension of what sort of creature was put to rest in the crumbling grass. When he landed, a strong gust from Alev’s wings cascaded over the corpse, blowing tatters of it away with the wind: despite it’s vivid color, it was crumbling from the inside like ash.

Ignatz, still a guest of the guard with Raphael until they were knighted, marched up to Claude. With a dark expression and uncertainty in his voice, he began explaining that the body was exactly what he feared: one of those non-human creatures that hid in Edelgard’s ranks. The crates were to divide the pieces if anything remained— an idea Ignatz devised after explaining the incident at Garreg Mach to the wary Riegan guards. 

There was little else to see or say. Raphael brought one of the crates to Claude, asking what should be done with them; he absently instructed him to store them under watch for now. His mind was elsewhere, searching for a dignified excuse to retreat swiftly to wherever Lorenz was. 

“Lorenz would know more; the first guards here said this was Lor- Lord Lorenz and a butler that fought it— er, her. One of the maids; he said she was a spy.” Ignatz’s voice rang clear in Claude’s ears at the mention of Lorenz.

Claude nodded slowly.

“He’s in the infirmary with the butler; I’ll walk with you.” Ignatz offered in answer to Claude’s contemplative silence.

“No; I’ll take Alev straight over. Keep helping here.”

“Right! Ah— Your Grace.” Ignatz bowed stiffly after a false start to leave, before legging-it away from his too-familiar tone with the Reigning Duke.

Claude could not take the deep breath he needed among the smoke or the royal treatment; he took to Alev to clear his mind for the few moments it would take to reach their infirmary.

In his respite on wyvern-back, he struggled to imagine Lorenz being party to such destruction. He was sure the most gruesome results were Morven’s doing, but the tidy charring was all Gloucester in it’s pattern: the way it stopped precisely on the inner-most side of the hedges; uniform scorching among every blade of grass, and not a spot missed: there was not even a speck of green in the center of the garden. He overheard the guards and the groundskeepers when he surveyed the scene: plants were cauterized down to their buds and would all have to be uprooted. If fire had only glanced them, they would rebound splendidly… but every drop of life was purged by embers on an infinitesimal scale, making charcoal of living wood, every flower petal to dust. It was such a gentle and thorough burning that ash in the shape of the leaves that grew along the rose vines still clung together, a ghost of the life that was. One hard breeze would see the silhouette scattered to the sky. 

With a chill, he admitted the body of the creature had been just as careful in it’s quartering.

* * *

The infirmary was tense with a quiet urgency. Claude entered slowly, to avoid breaking the concentration of the busy healers.

He first noted the bright red of Morven’s left arm and left side of his face, sharp against the clean healers and an ashen Lorenz: who he clung to on his right side, gritting his teeth as the remaining cloth was excised from the more severe patches of melted skin. 

“AaAhg!”

“Morven,” Lorenz started in an agonized whisper. Claude strained to hear him over the bustling of the doctors, from a distance and tucked behind a partition. “If I use Thyrsus, there would be little pain.”

“Keep that thing away from me.” Morven said with a tremble. Thyrsus lay on a distant bed, banished for it’s faithful and fiery handiwork.

Lorenz nodded, blankly. Corliss put a hand on his shoulder.

“My Lord, if someone does not heal his face soon, it will not recover fully.” Corliss shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t usually give credence to rumors, but if your affinity is high with Master Morven, even novice faith might have a better result. I can guide you.”

“Very well… I have never healed such a severe burn, I know little of dermal growth…”

While Corliss walked Lorenz through a sterile detail of what they knew of skin growth, Claude waited on a secluded bed; letting his mind reorient while he focused on the scene unfolding.

Carefully, they moved Morven to lean against Lorenz, his head over his heart— the source of faith magic, the closer the better for such severe wounds and inexperienced hands. Lorenz held the unburned half of his face, pressed his chin into his hair, and began a steady chant as his free hand began to glow with healing over Morven’s scorched side.

It was a wonder to see what a little faith and affinity could make of a novice healer.

When Lorenz was spent, drooping in his chair and being caught by a nearby healer, the majority of Morven’s face was restored. There was some glossy skin along his chin and neck, but more importantly his eyelid and ear were almost as they had been— paramount for a spy, for any fighter— and it looked like his hair might regrow. 

Claude, Corliss, and her peers were in awe. With Thyrsus, or any legendary staff, such a feat of healing would be possible, not perfect; by hand, it was unheard of to regrow parts. Though it was only an ear, a bit of cartilage, it was a complex form in it’s curves and dips. Lorenz’s work was not perfection, but pristine as anyone could hope. Just as attentive as the havoc wrought in the garden. It made Claude wonder how much _affinity_ they had, how close they had become…

Yet a curious relief washed over him instead of jealousy. He considered he had been quite fond of Morven— his axe teacher and venom keeper— and considered, too, how he had forgotten his gratitude during their spat. Regardless of the spite and competition, the poor treatment, he had served Claude again: aiding Lorenz where he had been absent, defending him to the point of near-death. It reminded Claude he was a good man; and made him ache to see him so grievously injured.

He returned his attention to Lorenz, who looked over Morven with a mix of disappointment and shame.

“I can do more.” Lorenz insisted again and again, begging to restore his arm, “at minimum,” before being chased away by Corliss: who prescribed ‘rest and reflection’ for Lorenz. Only now did Claude notice his hand and hip were both bandaged, that he was still dotted with blood. 

He waited for Lorenz to saunter morosely in his direction, catching him on his way past.

“Ah!” Lorenz jumped, throwing his hand out to cast in defense. 

“It’s me. What happened?”

“…There was an assassin; I dispatched her with Morven’s aid.” Lorenz let out a low sigh. “I… I do not wish to talk about it…”

“Fair enough. Come on.” Claude wanted to yell at him when he arrived. The offense fizzled out somewhere between Lorenz’s walk from Morven’s bed to Claude’s side. Instead of quarreling, laying into him about why he let Claude leave him while he carried out such a dangerous task, he half-carried Lorenz back to the Estate. They made their way in silence to the Rose Suite and straight to the private bath. 

Lorenz dispensed of his ruined clothes in the lavatory, stopping at his pants as Claude watched him hawkish and quiet. He took it on himself to follow Lorenz as he drew up enough hot water to wash himself by hand— his fresh wound needing to be kept from the water. He considered making Claude leave— sponge bathing was not very dignified— but he thought it might cause him to snap. He let the Duke chaperone without complaint. 

Claude grimaced when he saw the fresh gauze on Lorenz’s hip in full, not to be overshadowed by the gnarly scar under his ribs only a week old. 

“You were hurt.” Claude noted with pain in his voice, from behind the hand where he rested his chin.

Lorenz ran the wash cloth over his face. When he emerged, he was surprised to find Claude still in place; not moving to help him, or even taking pleasure in the sight. He wanted normalcy, not pity or carefulness. 

“Not so bad as I should have been; Alvina was far more skilled than I—” He stopped abruptly; no doubt the remains were unable to be identified. This would be the first Claude heard.

“… Alvina? N-no.” Claude leaned up now. “You’re mistaken.” But he was already putting the pieces together: her over-attentiveness, Lorenz’s foul expressions near to her. 

“I am truly sorry, Claude. You put your faith in her, I know. However—”

Claude shook his head.

“Here I thought my grandfather was a madman. Instead, he wasn’t thorough_ enough_—” He groped face in conflict, as if a headache had suddenly taken him. “Sorry, this isn’t another burden you need on your shoulders. I just…”

Without another word, he lowered himself to the floor, settling cross legged on the tile with his head in his hands.

“Goddess, she fooled me. I always told others they were underestimating her; but she’s been here for two years— since the beginning. Edelgard’s had a first-hand spy this entire time.” He looked up as Lorenz ringed out another ash leaden washcloth. “How am I supposed to know anymore…?”

“You cannot. She fooled Lalia, Morven: you are not alone. We can only hope her kind are in short supply. Busy on the Kingdom front.” Lorenz walked over to him. “I… I am so, so sorry Claude.” 

Claude nodded at him.

“I need some time alone.” He said after studying the grout for some time. Lorenz helped him up with his good hand; it was shaking, and his expression was not as flawless as his voice.

“Lorenz?”

“Please… I need to be alone as well.”

With a resigned huff, Claude retreated silently to his duties.


	91. Smoldering II

When they met again in Claude’s study, clothes clean, hair adjusted, eyes dabbed, they tried each in turn to start the professional small-talk and lean into the many important matters that continued to compound. Each foray into politics went unanswered, rejected by Lorenz or Claude or both in distant stares and sentences tapered off before a thought could finish.

The sun seem to set so quickly of late, even at the height of summer and on the longest of days. Golden light ambled through the room, drawing another frantic day to a rapid close: a day that they had mishandled front to back. It always reminded them both: time is running out. The sun is setting, opportunities slipping below the horizon with each misstep and word out of place. It made them both wary of moving, of talking and making plans: as if they might hasten the sun with the wrong move.

“I am tired.” Lorenz muttered at last. “I have dispatched the assassin, and now that I can relax, Dina and Gala wander through my mind, still lost.”

Claude perked a little. He was ashamed to be away while Lorenz fought, but this was a minuscule redemption for his absence.

“Ah. Not quite. Morley came to the Small Council… with Dina and Gala. Said he found them himself.”

“’Found’ Dina and Gala?” Lorenz started, leaning up from his chair.

“Yes. And girls seem happy as can be; they want to be with their Godfather. Their Uncle Rowan.” Claude explained with disgust. “Though, Dina seemed glad to be rid of the crest. Said she never even had one.”

“Nonsense; I saw it myself! … Though I suppose, from her perspective, she was free of a heavy burden and at home with her ‘Uncle.’ What else does she have left? Nothing.” Lorenz fell back against his chair again with a rattled groan. 

“That’s not all: I got a note when I left your suite, from Lysithea. Morley approached her— trying to threaten her into marriage.”

“What? The nerve!” Lorenz recoiled at the thought, as though Morley had assaulted his own sister. “Revolting!”

“Right? And Edmund tried to package Marianne up for me like a prize mare.”

“He… Marianne?!” Lorenz felt a peculiar pang of jealousy. Had he been offered up such a wife, he might agree if only to whisk her away from such careless bartering. “What did you say?!”

“What did I SAY?! No!” Claude looked at him with incredulity. “But I did embarrass him… a mistake… But when all of this is over, one of us— me, you, Hilda— should pay Miss Marianne a visit.”

“Agreed.”

Lorenz felt wretched. They had played fair, they had been careful, discreet, they did the right thing. But the Dina and Gala sounded happy enough— happy as they could be. But Jericho’s chilling tale of Morley seeking out women to breed would not let Lorenz stop here. Dina was thirteen; she would too soon become a woman by nature’s hand. She could not understand now, but she would come to regret being beholden to Morley, secluded under his roof and at his will without oversight. Hearing how he approached Lysithea with proposals of marriage, padding out his options, only clarified his motives. His obsession remained.

_What to do, and how— Jericho made his wishes clear on paper, by law— but they are still only wishes. Dina is of age to have agency… Morley has ‘proof,’ however ill gained. My legal options are none._ Lorenz thought, briefly, how his father might proceed, before laughing at the thought: his father would not do anything on principle, without gain. These girls were nothing. Lorenz felt that he had tried and failed to meddle in the defense of commoners. 

Just as Lorenz was ready to let his mind empty and defer all troubles to the following day, Claude cleared his throat seriously.

“That isn’t the most disturbing news.” Claude prefaced carefully. “…Your father wasn’t at the small council.”

A ripple of unease washed over the room. 

“That’s not like him. Why would he leave Derdriu when he was already here? Missing small council has been his greatest regret these past months.” Lorenz stood, as if he could search for the answer, his fatigue replaced with distress. He remembered Oswald’s pained admission that the Count murdered Duke Godfrey. The memory lodged in him as acutely as Nirna’s knives. “Something has happened. He… he must be after something. Someone.” He looked to Claude, assuming he had come to his own conclusions.

Claude did not offer comment, only stared absently in the opposite direction.

“Claude. What are you hiding?”

Claude watched people, Lorenz had noted over time. Watched for clues, for cracks. When he wasn’t, something else had his attention. 

“Well. You know. When Amory was here. Your father came.”

“Oh? You had not told me. I am surprised I am still here at all.” Lorenz became tense. _Why bring up Amory now? There was no reason for my father to leave me at the Estate, either._ To think the two were connected made his stomach sink. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t tell me about _your_ plots.”

Lorenz bristled at the childish deflection.

“How did you thwart him?”

Claude groaned under his breath. 

“It would have been dangerous for you to travel in that state… The Count thinks… He thinks you sent him away yourself.”

“… Explain.”

Claude began stammering like a child caught.

“Your admirer is an illusionist. Amory was here… then the Count came. Amory offered to put on an act. In your place.” 

He waited for a harsh rebuke, a raised voice and an attack on his intelligence and his character. Lorenz stared through him with a chilling absence. 

“I see. You mean to say, that my father has been set on some war path by _my_ voice at the behest of an unknown interloper?” 

“More or less...”

Lorenz walked to the window, looking out at the sky. It was already late. He turned to Claude in worry

“… I am leaving at first light tomorrow. I must find out what my father is doing.”

“That would be best. Except...” Claude didn’t want to burden him moreover; he was in a sympathetic mood.

“What is it?”

“I was going to invite you to small council in his place; or, rather, have you crash it. The other Lords need to know you better, in a peer capacity to ingratiate you against your father. We only addressed Morley today; the coming talks will be way more important. I need you there.”

“My father will never settle for that. He’ll have any decisions I made expunged.” Lorenz stopped. “Ah. Unless I make decisions he would choose himself.”

“Right. Do whatever he would do, without the attitude. Even if you don’t agree with it, work in his interests and focus on familiarizing yourself with the rest of the council. Then…”

“Then my father will see no issue with sending me to Roundtables in his stead. Perhaps even small councils.”

“You catch on quickly.”

“But just now, I _must_ stop him.” Lorenz pondered for a moment, twisting his lengthening hair between his fingers. “I can promise you one day on the council, while I explore Gloucester Hall tomorrow and search for one of our stewards, Janek. He was about the city during the Roundtable and usually lingers after. If I can find him, he would know what my father is doing. I only need to get a letter through to my father, and for him to send a letter back.” 

“Or…” Claude remembered suddenly the sending stone he hid elsewhere in the Estate. “Wait here.” Claude left Lorenz leaned against the window. He did not speak or move, preoccupied with the smoke on the horizon. The funeral pyre of a wicked assassin, an ill omen. 

After twenty minutes or so— walking time Lorenz assumed— Claude returned with something kept carefully between his palms like a caught frog.

“You can ask Amory what he said yourself. He left me this—” He opened his hands to reveal a smoky red sending stone “— and told me to give it to you when you recovered.”

“Hmph. And you kept it from me?” Lorenz picked it up to examine it; lucky the stone was not some sort of trap, for Claude to hold it in his bare hands and remain unscathed was a relief…_ I must teach him to be as wary of magic as he is poisons._

“Honestly? I forgot about it.”

Checking the stone all around, and passing a current of magic through it to test it’s legitimacy, Lorenz determined it was genuine. 

“I will excuse your forgetfulness; it has been quite the week. Let us see if Lord Amory will entertain my questions.” Lorenz tapped the stone to his lips; it began to glow and grew warm in his hand as Claude hovered over the rare magic. “Lord Amory Benettos, I, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, request an audience with you. It is urgent.”

The stone pulsed dully; there was no response.

“Lord Amory. Please respond.”

Nothing happened. Several minutes passed in silence.

“So much for his supposed devotion.” Lorenz scowled, deactivating the stone by closing it in his palm. He pocketed it and resumed his brooding.

“Lorenz. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not concerned with apologies; it is done. Just now, it feels as though something is looming on the horizon. Control slipping from our hands— if we can say we ever grasped it. We were supposed to be cornering the Rountable. And yet here we are: you are the only Great Lord we have in our pocket.”

“At least I’m Duke; otherwise this entire endeavor has been a waste of time.” Claude crossed his arms, holding in his elbows. 

“Not a waste… I enjoyed the scheming, the brief hope that change was in our grasp and would come easily.” Lorenz said with a tinge of sadness that it was coming to an end. He had yet to rebound from his pensiveness, from his dejection, and now was fraught with worry. “I have done so little to help you… and it will be my last night here.” He said painfully.

“I’ll have to make it a memorable one.” Claude answered blankly.

It was what Lorenz wanted to hear, but it could not stir him: high-strung as he was by their myriad failures and the hardships to come. He smiled thinly at Claude, promising to return later in the evening. He had his belongings to gather; Morven to tend, again, if they would let him; and an escape plan to organize.


	92. Trust

The infirmary was too clean, and Lorenz was tired of it. The way the smoke had enveloped them, the way the ash lilted on the air was soothing, the embers in their wake making the sun seem dull in compare. The infirmary was too sharp. Too cold. It was wicking away the fire in his chest. It was all Lorenz has thought about, after the shock wore off.

And Thyrsus was too bloody quiet.

He did not realize that the relic had become such a deafening hum, so much so that he tuned it out without realizing. Much like the sterile infirmary, the absence of the cacophony was like a comforting warmth fled from his body. He thought, dangerously, that perhaps if he had been allowed to carry out Nirna’s execution with all the heat and fire that pooled in him in that intoxicating instant, perhaps it would have created an indomitable, perpetual flame in him. Like the sun.

He felt as though he had burned out; like Morven doused him just before some divine combustion.

* * *

It was late, the infirmary becoming darker. Morven lay restless; the ward was too open, to airy for him to feel safe enough for sleep. He lay with his eyes closed, listening to the echo of footsteps as the night attendants kept busy— to keep themselves awake. 

Just as he was about to drift into a half-sleep, a new pattern of footsteps approached him: light, direct. They did not stop, drawing closer to him. He could feel the cursed staff already, and in the dark it’s glow— even with his eyes shut— like the eye of a hungry beast. 

“My Lord. How may I serve?” He asked sarcastically from the bed without opening his eyes.

“I need you to heal more quickly. I require help that only you can provide, once again.”

“I have become quite indispensable, have I not?” Morven coughed; the smoke still had not left his lungs. He opened his eyes at last. “Bring me into your house, and I will crawl to your aid if I must.”

“You are lucky I let that kiss go, and you ask for more.” Lorenz sat next to him, leaving his request unanswered. He took the cursed staff in hand. “I’m going to heal you— I know I can do enough to take the edge off of the pain and speed healing… but not without a fair bit of scarring. I need to leave in the morning. I must find my father. I need you to infiltrate House Morley… but it is up to you. You may stay here and recover. I am told it will take a year at least.”

“If I choose the slow route, what am I giving up?”

“Nothing. I will bring you into House Gloucester regardless. Now or in a year.” Lorenz gave up his bargaining chip. He already had Morven’s loyalty; he felt to deny him further would become cruel. “You will heal more fully, and perhaps regain much of your lost skin with the prolonged attention of an expert healer. I am told Corliss works miracles, where reasonable. She is the finest in the Alliance… fluted puncture wounds notwithstanding.”

“Who would you keep as your retainer in my place?”

Lorenz sighed heavily. There was no one comparable— to Lalia or Morven. 

“Ignatz Victor. He is loyal as they come. I would take a second retainer as well, one of my own loyal from House Gloucester.”

Morven snorted. 

“That boy is a green as his hair.” He tried to lift his arm, wincing with pain. “No. Scarring or not, I would go mad laid up for a year. I knew what risks I was taking— why I felt rather entitled to that last kiss. Heal me.” Though he was wary of Thyrsus, some of his reactive fear of the monster had abated. And he trusted Lorenz… In healing, at least. 

Lorenz hoped he would turn the offer down. He couldn’t, truly, stand to look at Morven daily in such a state. Not when it was by Thyrsus’ magic… by his own hands, he admitted with a deep guilt he had been putting off. 

Morven had more than earned his place, and Lorenz’s faith. He owed him to offer his aid and a place by his side. If he did what was right— what was noble— Morven would remain as a living reminder for the rest of his life. 

“Are you sure…?” Lorenz begged in his heart for him to turn the offer down. “You understand what you will look like? And I must use Thyrsus— I am at my limit with my earlier work, and it has been too long since the injury.” He looked over the left of Morven’s face with worry: what seemed a miracle earlier in the day, compared to the severity of the burns, was clearly defective under scrutiny.

“This is for me; I am only so lucky I have the option to escape this infirmary so soon. Tell me, Lorenz— would you have traded a year, during a war, while your beloved Hilda and Claude were fighting, just so you might heal up slightly prettier?” 

“I suppose not.”

With their resolve matched, Lorenz helped position Morven so he might hold out his arm with the least pain. It clearly still grieved him; soon it would be much like the gash across Lorenz’s ribs: a gnarly but painless reminder. He tried again and again to concentrate, but his mind continued to wander back to the ashen courtyard and the warmth under his skin… before he could start, he had questions that needed answering.

“Why did you stop me?” Lorenz asked Morven. The scorched butler lay still, arm in Lorenz’s grip, staring into the ceiling thoughtfully.

Quiet for a moment.

“You were polite not to ask, but I am sure who have wondered about my hands being burned.” Morven started dryly, after a moment of reflection.

“… I have.”

“Passion. Lust for power. I was young and gifted in magic; and not deterred by maiming. No, I loved my bright new flames: the way the fire licked my hands, in my palms, warm but never burning. Never close enough. Never hot enough. I could do more.”

Lorenz could hear the lesson-learned coming.

“In a fit of overconfidence, I let the fire consume my hands. Not in any battle, or defense, not even in training. I simply let loose, just to see what it felt like, to say that I had and that I could. As you can tell, my hands never recovered. I turned to illusion after that.” Morven sighed. “I saw the very same abandon in your eyes. You were near being swallowed up by the temptation Thyrsus offers you. You would have lost more than your hands.”

“I see.” Lorenz was rebuffed by his attempt to liken them; disappointed that it rang true. “…You lead me to believe you were untrained in the art of illusion. But Nirna, you nearly killed her just with… well, whatever it was you showed her.”

“A Morfisian specialty. Morfis is a lovely place, on the surface, if you do not look to hard.”

“That is where you studied?” Lorenz thought the description was a bit overblown, but he had heard rumors.

“Yes. And it’s best to keep such ‘gifts’ hidden, for reasons I need not explain.”

The conversation drew to a natural end.

“You were right in your judgment. It was not a pleasant feeling.” Lorenz lied, offering Morven some vindication. “…I had the distinct notion, briefly, that Thyrsus was… alive. I felt him in my hands and body.”

“…_Him?_” Morven scoffed. “Tell me that is a mistake of your fatigue.”

“No. I choose my words carefully.” Lorenz stared into the floor. “But, I believe it is important to know, I was in control. It may sound like overconfidence, but it was… more terrifying. I could have stopped at any time. I chose not to."

* * *

Lorenz’s inexperienced Faith magic was far more tedious and lethargic than earlier, even with Thyrsus to compensate for his ignorance. The healing was complete, over an hour later, requiring several stops and starts to initiate the healing correctly. Healers hovered nearby, observant; but without Corliss’s present authority, they did not dare stop Lorenz from his work. He began to push himself, then, even after the bandages were removed and the glossy skin was firm to the touch. 

Lorenz couldn’t stand it; this couldn’t be all he could manage: he could clearly _see_ what was wrong— why couldn’t he fix it like he had Morven’s face? He began once more in desperation until Morven cast a silence over him. 

“That’s enough.” He set up in the bed, flexing his arm. “I can move, the pain is gone. The skin feels a bit taut but… nothing unmanageable, it will become more pliant with time.”

“Perhaps, with a bit more concentration—”

“I see I am going to have to serve as your stopper as well as your support. You are helpless without me.”

Lorenz held his remarks; if Morven was well enough to reprimand him, then he was as well as he could be. Back to his condescending tone. 

“I expect you have something you needed right away, since you came to me on your last night in House Riegan?” Morven knew his room would be vacant; Lorenz’s visitation so late baffled him. He was sure he and the Riegan boy would be finding comfort among a bevy of pillows. 

Lorenz was already regretting it, bringing Morven in so close in a brief, foolish moment of recompense— to compensate for the injury. He felt the mistake in the pit of his belly… but he used to feel like that about Claude as well. He decided to put Morven’s well being at arm’s length now that he was healed: and put him to work. 

“You can warp, yes?” Lorenz asked.

“I can.”

“Can you ride a wyvern as you are? Or, at minimum, help me steer one?”

“Yes, I will be able to fly a wyvern fine.” He flexed his healed arm again as if to prove it. Lorenz directed the healers to leave them, before lowering his voice. 

“Breakfast is at seven. I will request a private room with Claude, the one just off of the main dining hall. You are to have a wyvern double saddled and ready to leave by 7:10. At 7:30, you are to warp into the dining hall, warp me to the wyvern, and take me back to Derdriu swift as you can.”

“May I ask—”

“No. Have Ignatz pack my things tonight, and yours; inform him he is to return to Derdriu with our horses at dawn, taking up in Gloucester Hall. He is to take Thysus with him as well.” Lorenz held out the staff tentatively, making clear it could be turned down.

“… Understood, my Lord.” Morven took the staff, adamant in honoring his profession: a butler could not spare cowardice in service.

While Lorenz was beginning to have his doubts, Morven was piqued by the secrecy. He did not smile overmuch, but the elation was clear in his eyes.


	93. The Final Visit

Lorenz rushed to Claude’s suite, wine in hand amid several other sundries for the night. 

Just before he parted ways with Morven, his new butler seized him: urgently divulging his involvement with Morley, for fear of appearing to conceal his work from his new liege Lord. Lorenz was disheartened to recall the look of alarm in Morven’s eyes: that any detail forgotten might be misinterpreted as a scheme concealed, a treachery, and entreat Lorenz’s wrath, a hasty dismissal and even abuse. It harrowed Lorenz; he realized he had not been himself for some time. For too long now, the past weeks and the past years, he had given in to his most crude and initial reactions, relying on his bad temper many times; excusing it as not only necessary, but his only recourse during this precarious historical moment.

When Morven detailed all he knew of Morley— and that Alvina was at_ least_ alive— it was the first true solace Lorenz had felt in days. A mere maid he was not overly fond of to begin with, her survival was a symbol hope prevailing: if only to comfort Claude. It rekindled in him the longing for a return to his graces, a monument of resiliency and dependability of his noble class, unshakable in the face of threats, gossip, assassination attempts… and his duties, however gruesome. Self-pity and mourning was tiresome: Morven, Alvina, Dina, Gala, Hilda, Claude, Lalia— they were all _alive_. He and Claude’s failure to control the Roundtable seemed like a small tragedy side-by-side with the victory of escaping death.

Lorenz struck down the nagging uncertainties like so many gnats; Claude demanded all of his concern. His birthday was in a few short days, and Lorenz would be his enemy by then.

_But that is later_, he squashed the notion before it could pester him.

He removed the Deer Key from his pocket and gave it a quick affectionate peck before sliding the shaft into the lock; for the night disregarding the staff, the guard, the eyes and any gossip. He would give them something to talk about tonight; stray rumors would not matter after breakfast. 

_But that is tomorrow,_ he told himself again, _and not to worry about while the sun is down. _

The room was lighted, but empty, the sound of running water cascading from the lavatory. Lorenz praised his luck, setting his accoutrements down to open the balcony, and began pulling all of the various cushions throughout the room into the floor in front of it. As he finished arranging Claude’s various golden and magenta, teal and embroidered pillows and blankets onto the pile, Claude emerged from his bath: hair down, wet from bathing, clinging and curling in tendrils along his face; dressed in only a towel and a curious expression on finding Lorenz rearranging his room.

He looked to the pillows, wanted to be excited; the raised eyebrow and the glitter in his green eyes spoke of thrill… before he was washed again in burden, his face falling like a candle snuffed out.

“What is all of this…?” He asked, fatigue thick in his voice. “Wine? I don’t really feel like celebrating, Lorenz…”

“You should.” Lorenz moved to the dresser and poured two glasses of the borrowed bottle while Claude pouted. “Morven has informed me that Alvina— the genuine woman you knew and trusted— is at Morley’s Estate. Alive. We are alive, only slightly worse for wear. Lalia is resting. Hilda is safe at home.” 

Claude’s eyes widened. He twisted his hands in the towel at his waist.

“Wait— so there hasn’t been a spy this entire time…She’s_ real?_ She’s alive?!” Claude exhaled slowly, his shoulders rocking for a moment against a fresh sob of relief restrained. His face furrowed in concern. “Morven, he knew there was a spy? How long?”

“Only recently. Only just before he returned to aid me.”

“… We have to do something. Now. She might be—”

“Calm yourself. Morven is going to Morley’s Estate: tomorrow. He assures me he has already intimated to Morley that Alvina is endeared to you— and now that her impostor is gone, she should be safe enough.” Claude did not seem convinced, glancing toward the sky outside, that he should not dash off of the balcony to her rescue in nearly nude. Never mind that, to his knowledge, Morven was still invalid. “Morven will be able to handle the situation with delicacy, ensuring her safety. If you invade Morley’s Estate in the night, few are likely to escape unscathed.”

“Morven is injured. How—”

“Please. Claude. Leave the details to me. Here, to ease your nerves.” Lorenz reassured him, moving closer and brandishing the glass of red at him.

_I think this is the first time he’s tried to get me ‘loosened up’ with a drink. Must be pretty serious._ Claude let out another long sigh, taking the wine glass. 

He drained the half glass quickly, holding out for another. Lorenz filled it up again, summoning all his elegance to raise a toast.

“To life.” He declared grandly, his gaze at home in Claude’s eyes.

“To living.” Claude answered, his first smile of the day blooming in the rush of the wine. After a surprisingly modest sip, he gestured to the makeshift bed in the floor. “So. What is this?”

“Ah, _that_; it is my last night here, I would rather not spend it too callously.” He set down his glass, pulling Claude toward the pallet of cushions. “I thought, as a celebration for your birthday forthcoming, we might stargaze together. I also have something for you. A gift.”

“I see…” Claude hummed with curiosity.

To set the lighting, Lorenz swept his hand toward the lanterns to lower them, before stumbling against Claude in a rush of magic fatigue.

“Lorenz?!”

“Fine— I am fine. I simply overspent myself tending to Morven the second time. The healers topped off my stamina, but—”

“You healed him, again? Aren’t you tired…?” He held Lorenz up, brushing his hair back from his face. “… Aren’t you overdoing it? We can skip all of the flair for tonight.” He asked, lowering his voice with concern.

“I am known to overextend myself for dramatic flair, you mentioned once. But I want this. I need it. I need to…”

Claude nodded in vague understanding: Lorenz had a goal, he needed to achieve a certain _something_ that was critical to his character. He walked Lorenz to the pillows, putting him down carefully in the folds of the blankets. The grandiose gesture was very Lorenz, yet he looked odd, fully clothed and made-up, laying in such a makeshift heap-of-a-bed: it was very _un_like him, to settle for something so crude. It ignited in Claude a fresh intrigue. In the back of his mind he had always thought of Lorenz, in all his exuberant confidence, as a finished man: not in an admirable way, but as an inflexible actor, singular in his character and doomed to stagnancy. He loved him the way he was, and never expected him to change. It was a sort of grounding, the predictability.

Instead of apprehension, that Lorenz might actually be unpredictable, it brought thrill: what sort of man could he still become?

Relaxed into the lumpy sprawl in his neatly pressed jacket, Lorenz beckoned Claude to follow. Claude leaned in tentatively, realizing he was still only one tight towel away from naked, and still concerned of Lorenz’s fatigue.

“You can take my energy, like mages do.” Claude offered, sure he would need it for the night he wanted out of Lorenz. His towel was _tight_ around him. 

“If I knew how, I would relish to feel the rush of your energy fleeting under my skin, flowing into me. However, I might kill you in my inexperience.” Claude nodded again, more soberly, and began to undo Lorenz’s shirt buttons. “… Eager, aren’t you? We have not even glanced at the stars yet.”

“It’ll be more memorable if we’re skin to skin.”

Lorenz could not disagree, and let him have his way for the moment. After removing his jacket and folding his shirt back, Claude withdrew his touch reluctantly to settle into the pile, replacing his curious hands with his head, to layover Lorenz’s deep and steady heartbeat.

“Where to start…” Claude lead, gazing up through the open doorway, savoring the unseasonable cool wind flowing in from the sky. They could not have chosen a better night than happenstance had blessed them with: the moon was new and the sky was cloudless. There would be no fog yet rolling in from the coast; not until the third hour dawned on them. Despite the serendipitous conditions, it was difficult for him to keep his gaze up, when he wanted to look _down_ for once: to get up on his knees and look over Lorenz like he was a new constellation to be mapped.

“I know nothing of celestial maps. I thought you might show me those constellations you favor.” Lorenz shifted. Unaccustomed to being lain on, he moved rigidly as if he might spook Claude with too sudden movements. He hated to discomfort him; whatever his own discomfort, he wanted nothing more than for Claude to stay where he was until the feeling was engraved in his memory.

Claude meandered over the stars they could see. The door frame was broad, and they were close enough— feet and ankles on the balcony— that at least a quarter of the sky was available to them. He had quickly familiarized himself with the Fodlaner names for each favored cluster of his, but they were more boring; staid with pious lessons and dry parables to remind Fodlaners to behave and that they were always ‘safe,’ as long as the Goddess Star favored them. They were far more imposing and empty than the myths he grew up with. While he decided which constellation to detail first, Lorenz pulled him closer.

“No need to lecture me about every star in the sky.” He instructed, as though he could hear Claude searching over star maps in his mind. “Rather, tell me the constellation that, when I look to it from Gloucester, you are most likely to be gazing at as well.”

The sentiment surprised Claude, inspiring a deep and inveterate love. His crest bloomed over his heart, golden, attended by a faint, rich chime that hung in the air as it glowed. Lorenz let slip a slight gasp in awe. 

_Why am I surprised, it’s Lorenz,_ Claude thought, a bit embarrassed by the sudden flare. He could feel himself flushing. _He has always been the romantic sort. _

He had read as much in his little pink-and-silver poetry book. But it was rarely expended for his sake. He realized the history of the constellation, the names and the myths didn’t matter. As long as Lorenz could find it. And it was right in front of them. He pointed straight ahead.

“Three Saints. Right there—” He wedged up close to Lorenz’s face, to see on the same level and trace their outline “—do you see the three bright triangles? It’s the one I look at when I’m feeling alone. It reminds me I have family and friends, however distant. It’s visible for the entire year from here, but sometimes it gets really close to the horizon, behind the trees.” 

“It is lovely.” Lorenz commented, his breath on Claude’s cheek. He pressed a hand through the Riegan crest to feel Claude’s heart beating rapidly. Claude struggled to withdraw the crest— he felt many things all at once, none of them bad. The crest reacted even though there was nowhere for any power to flow. 

He tried to repress it— he had never been good at it, when it conjured on it's own; but it only flickered out briefly, to reappear when Lorenz drew his face around carefully to kiss him. He drew away with a soft smile, then became confused at the despair in Claude's eyes.

“Lorenz. I want this. For more than just a night.”

“I know.” Lorenz pulled away, sobered. He stared at the stars a littler longer before reaching for his discarded jacket. From it, he pulled a familiar book, small with silver etching, and a key. "I have only small consolations, for my coming absence."

He gave Claude the key first. Unlike the Golden Deer Key, it was silver and light, all filigree. Roses, naturally, topped the bow, vines lacing around it like a rapier guard.

“This is…” Claude admired the key.

“Not that I expect you to ever come to Gloucester— unless you have a death wish. But in consideration of the events preceding my arrival, I thought your wariness is prudent. I have had new lock sets for my suites made while in Derdriu… I want you to hold one of my keys.”

“…This is too tempting. You’re practically begging me to come break into Gloucester Estate.” He slid his knee between Lorenz’s legs, pulling him closer by the small of his back.

“Ahah. Wishing is more like.” Lorenz laughed. Claude seemed to be growing impatient; he lavished a deep an indulgent kiss before continuing. “Or, perhaps, it is a hope: that a day will arrive when you can visit my home, and the key will find use in more peaceful times. Gloucester really is splendid… I long for you to see it not a hostile territory, but as an example of the finest of the Leicester Alliance.” 

“I’ll share that dream with you…” Claude promised. Though he held the key close, he eyed the journal with more interest. “Are you going to read to me?”

Lorenz blushed. 

“If you like. I have filled the last page— for you to read after I have left.” He held the journal up. “I would read you one of the others… But that is not why I brought it. I want you to keep it safe for me; and you may even read it, with permission this time.”

“Not much left to read. I might like it better if you wrote about me.” He said, voice ripe with an indignant tease. “I just wonder why you didn’t…”

Stunned at Claude’s oversight, Lorenz chose his words carefully: he thought Claude was reading his journal simply to spite him, that he would laugh at the poems Lorenz believed were _obviously_ about the Golden Deer himself. To know he was searching for reciprocation…

“I would not call your harassment so classy as to be titled an ‘affair,’ however… I was deeply shamed for feeling anything for you that was not ire or suspicion. If you read the poem _Verdant Wind_, _Distant Starlight_, and the ones about summer or sunflowers… well they were clearly all about you.”

Claude did not answer, dumbfounded. The poems were his favorite: he revered nature, and the stars of course— he found them to be some of the most longing poems in the book: for pristine wilderness and it’s moods. His heart hummed with pleasure to know better. No lines in the book had resonated with him so much as Verdant Wind, and he was elated to be it’s subject.

“Huh" was all he could say.

“Hah! So desperate for mention that you could not recognize yourself between the metaphors... I could not bear to write your name, or navigate the ways in which I… I wanted you. But longing for the distant warmth of the sun was an acceptable yearning, should anyone happen on my journal. Like Manuela had. Ultimately, I wrote down some of my poems in her own volume… one day, she might sing in songs the desperation with which I wrote of you. None the wiser.”

“I hope we get to hear it.” Claude took the journal, holding it open over his head while Lorenz tucked into his side to look up with him. The Riegan Crest lit the pages with a gentle sun-like glow. “I doubt my poetry is up to your standards, but I can read some of this to you,” he offered to translate the Almyran script. “I’m not gonna be great at translating the meter and rhyme to Fodlaner on the fly, though.”

“Then perhaps I should take up Almyran before I can appreciate them… It would be a clever impediment to any ignorant spies, when we exchange clandestine letters.” 

Claude warmed at the thought: that Lorenz would actually write back to him, and perhaps this time with more than reprimands and insults. He closed the journal carefully, with a deep breath.

When Lorenz looked down to Claude, he was staring back with an expression Lorenz had never found the words for: he knew what it meant— there was no translation for it, and it certainly had nothing to do with language or looking at distant twinkling lights. His eyes caught the reflection of the lamp wick in such a way that they seemed to glow with yellow-green fire from within, intensifying a gaze that ventured beyond desire.

Claude placed the journal to the side to life himself over Lorenz’s middle, attentive and rapt. With not so much as another word, he started low; lips grazing across Lorenz’s navel, before groping up his stomach in generous mouthfuls; searing tongue lapping at him as though he were fresh water inClaude’s parched mouth.

The night air that breezed in from the balcony was no longer enough to relieve them; the air around them becoming too thick with heat to speak. Lorenz wanted to scold Claude for his impatience, but unless conveyed with hands and eyes, nothing was said: the lamp diminished, and even that language was almost lost save for the warm cast of Claude’s crest. Touch remained their finest communication, Claude’s weight now pressing over Lorenz in the quiet. He could feel Claude in the air around him, beyond his hands and the press of his legs against his thighs. Words would be too distinct, sharp enough to sever the tension that made the empty space between them palpable.

Cold and refreshing droplets scattered along Lorenz’s flushing skin— dripping from Claude’s hair where it had not yet dried— as he helped Lorenz out of his open shirt; his chill mane mopping along Lorenz’s neck as he helped him from his pants, bending Lorenz’s legs carefully to free him from the confines. With each leg Claude pressed his palm carefully over the scar across Lorenz’s chest, wary of upsetting it. The carefulness riled Lorenz even more than the sight of him, more even than the occasional slide of Claude’s stiffness against him in the dark. Lorenz took the hand from his scar and wrapped it around his cock.

_This is where I ache_, Lorenz thought to say, but bit back his words; instead, he moaned softly into Claude’s ear, followed by a warm breath. Claude understood what he meant, he was sure, when he felt an affirmative rumble in Claude’s chest against his own. He lavished one, two promising strokes before letting loose to arrange himself. He settled over Lorenz, hips tucked between Lorenz’s thighs where they wrapped around him. 

Their eyes adjusted to the mingled starlight and crest glow; Claude could now just make out Lorenz’s pale body, long and slender stretched out beneath him. 

Lorenz could feel Claude shudder— and hear a desperate whine from deep in his throat— when Claude reached between his legs, under his manhood to find him already prepared to take him. To know Lorenz readied himself in waiting made Claude voracious: he almost punctured the quiet to with an elated swear. Instead, Claude swallowed his words, choosing to let his mouth hang open in the absence of voice. A hungry pant was more fitting. He traced the contours of the warm, oily indention, where the light could not reach; Lorenz’s legs squeezed tight around him at the caress with a muffled groan in relief. Claude pushed harder, feeling for give and pressing one finger into the hot and wet suck. 

It was better than he recalled, more than his fantasies could could satisfy: the distinct sensation of running his finger between slick folds of satin, except Lorenz’s folds squeezed around him eagerly, with a warm pulse of pleasure.

“M-more.” Lorenz demanded.

Claude raised his eyebrows, but he could feel the plea as much as he heard it: Lorenz was relaxed, bobbing against him softly in his yearning, and there was plenty of room to accommodate _more_. 

_More what?_ Claude debated; whether he should waste time with more fingers or let into him fully, giving in right away.

“I thought we would go slow.” Claude suggested, deep and indulgent. “But you seem practiced…” He said, teasing suspicion.

“Did you expect me to be out of practice?” Lorenz asked through a breathy and high moan.

“You aren’t…?” The answer upset and tantalized him.

Lorenz did not answer immediately, letting the silence blossom with suggestion while taking Claude’s arms to pull himself, his hips down deeper onto Claude’s fingers as he slipped more in to test Lorenz’s claim. 

“… I denied any such desires steadfastly,” Lorenz started, his voice barely above a whisper “yet my pillows in Gloucester are two years soaked with your name, poured out in both my dreams and my most shameful waking fantasies.” He admitted, satisfaction rolling over his body to have his deepest secret heard. Even now his blush renewed with shame. “I am more than practiced, I have enthusiastically—Ah!”

Claude pushed his legs back without word, sopping fingers pulled out and pushed under his knees to spread him wide. 

“Show me. Let me hear how you said my name while you were alone.” He gulped, sliding his dick up and down Lorenz, baiting for more confession. “Show me how you begged for me; this time I’ll answer.”

Carefully, Lorenz unlaced Claude’s fingers from under his knees, turning belly down under Claude’s kneading hands, and wrapped his arms around the pillow beneath him. He did his best reenactment, stuffing his fist in his mouth to whimper Claude’s name as quietly as he could. He was precise, down to the look of combined lust and chagrin in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder in the golden glow.

Claude had to hold his breath to hear him, stilling his body. The faint noise that escaped Lorenz painted a vivid image of him in his his bed, cold winters passed alone, shivering Claude’s name in the snowy moonlight cast onto a rosy spread of heavy blankets. 

“…C… Claude… Please…” Lorenz cried into his knuckles, almost muffled by the pillow corner. “Claude… Claude…. I need you, please… Claude… do it again, like before…” He whimpered.

It was not the passionate cry Claude wanted— or expected. 

He hesitated. 

Suddenly, he did not believe he deserved any of it: the sight of Lorenz’s marble splendor, his long back with its divots and dimples between muscle, the tendrils of Lavender hair soaked with sweat that clung to his shoulders. He was invited to relieve himself, to take advantage of Lorenz’s vulnerability a second time, like he had at Garreg Mach— and it excited him, shameful as it was. A nasty part of him wished he was a little more reluctant, like the needy noble he had been, _reveling_ in having his dignity stripped away.

…Except _this_ Lorenz loved him. He preferred a beg for haste in made desire, rather than a beg for haste to simply get it over with.

“If you’re asking…” Claude pulled a finger down the dip of Lorenz’s back, along his spine, echoing his past seeking of permission.

“Of course I am asking.” Lorenz huffed, twisting in an attempt to face him. He pulled Claude’s hand under him to feel how badly he wanted it, wrapping his fingers again around his cock in desperation. “Do not let my indignity amount to nothing,” he said cheekily.

Claude pushed Lorenz’s shoulder back down into the pillow, gathering up his hair to squeeze it lightly.

“I won’t.”

He rubbed the head of his cock back and forth, pressing harder with each shallow thrust to tease, to encourage. Each pass came closer to breaching, a promise of heat and warmth and wet tipped his phallus… before he pulled away once more.

“Hmn… Claude. You waste precious moments, any second I am not filled is such torment...”

“You like it, don’t you?”

“YYyyyess…” Lorenz moaned.

One hand on Lorenz’s dick, the other threaded in his lavender hair, Claude reared back to press down and into him. Inches sheathed, he expected resistance; instead, Lorenz scrambled to push harder, onto him, and he felt his dick twitch in his hand at the effort. His thighs pressed against him, tightened with strain, and relaxed again in tandem with an airy sigh of relief.

“Unh…!” Lorenz moaned, loud. Too loud. “Duke Riegan! Claude!” Claude’s hair stood on end: he was sure everyone in the Estate would hear him. “Claude!”

He didn’t care. 

_Let the it out, let them know,_ Claude thought foolishly; as if two guards and some staff hearing them could lend credence to expose them, giving them no choice but to admit to the Roundtable and Alliance at large they were having an affair. _No, more than an affair. More. _

“Yes! More!” He thrust down fully, mounted up to his navel. “Yes, I want to hear my name_ habibi_, ah! _Ghani aisimi_, sing my name!” 

Restraint was thin; Claude struggled not to take Lorenz’s hips and wrack his body senseless, not to waste the opportunity and expend himself too soon. He measured his breaths, in, out, through his mouth, counting between each slide and pull. He indulged in the view, Lorenz puckered around him, clinging to him with each retreat, begging him back in. It was enough alone, even in his carefulness, to make him throb with the desire to come. Instead, he closed his eyes, slowing further, huffing deep in his chest for patience.

Lorenz was not so patient. Despite Claude’s meandering thrusts, he cried out as if he were receiving a hasty, hard pound.

“Claude!” Lorenz writhed under him, shoulder blades sharp, ass pressed and stacked against him. “Claude! My Golden Deer—! Duke Riegan!”

“Ohhn… yes. More.” Claude’s voice wavered, and broke. “Call for me. I’m here. Ahn…” He quickened for a moment, before regaining his composure.

“Claude! _Claude!_ CLAUDE!” 

“Y-yesss… Lorenz… oh Lorenz you are like music.” Claude wasn’t sure what he meant; though Lorenz’s impassioned wails were in turns delicate and deep, almost metered in their perfection with rhythmic punctuations of his name, there was _more_. He was like the feeling of music, not merely the sound. He matched the tempo, laying into Lorenz harder. “Lorenz. Lorenz! Oh saints, yes…”

“Your Grace… Your Grace, you spoil me… you fuck me _so well_…” Lorenz let out a tedious groan and shook with orgasm; Claude squeezed tight around his cock, not ready to let him finish so soon. “Duke Riegan…”

“Shh… Claude, call me Cla… K…Kha…” Claude felt a shock of cold, at the thought of revealing himself. Surely Lorenz was not invested in Almyran monarchies, but it was too risky. He withdrew his revelation, saving it for a another time. _Even now,_ he thought,_ I have to have something in return. I can’t tell him, not without something just as damning against him. _

His hope waned. Lorenz was an open book; there was no career-shattering secret that could ever compare. He tried to forget, to enjoy the evening remaining. He pulled out, eliciting a sharp complaint: seizing Lorenz roughly by his hip and shoulder, turning him belly up to face him.

“Return to me.” Was all Lorenz managed between deep labored sighs. “Again.”

Before answering his beg, Claude pressed on top of him, elbows on either side of his head. Guiding Lorenz only by his hips— his hands busy in his hair— he slid against him until finding his way back with a careful and slow push.

“Aahhhnn…” Lorenz moaned in Claude’s hair. “Darling… My east wind, the sun of summer made as a lover…”

“Am I?” Claude begged for confirmation, delirious to hear Lorenz describe him as anything but conniving and untrustworthy.

“And more.” Lorenz answered.

Lorenz put his hands to use instead of busying them in the twisting of blankets; trailing them down Claude’s back, massaging a deep squeeze of his thighs, followed by a gentle pull to encourage him to come into him more tenderly. 

With slow and attentive thrusts, gently as demanded, Claude luxuriated in Lorenz’s bind around him. Each silken slide inspired tremors between them both, the pleasure being too rich almost to bear; Claude broke into a desperate and graveled whimper as Lorenz’s moans shivered behind closed and quivering lips. 

For a time, restraint enduring, they closed in on one another wherever they could: pulling tighter, closing gaps, wrapping and bending limbs to ensure little skin was left untouched. Claude maintained his soft push and pull against his desires, knowing he would never be so close to anyone for some time. Perhaps never, depending on the war. But it was in vain. 

Claude’s whimpers broke into rough groans as he took Lorenz’s phallus in hand: throbbing to spill any moment. 

At the pressure of his calloused fingers, Lorenz squeezed and pulled Claude’s thighs more urgently despite his command for a gentle procession. 

Though time had slowed for them momentarily, they made up for it by breaking into a fevered spasm: each quaking legs and uncorked cries; Claude nipping kisses more akin to bites wherever they could land as Lorenz crashed into each one longingly; quickening in jerks and thrusts and curls against the pillows.

“Nnnn— aaahh! Claude! Claude! Claaaa— AHN!!” Lorenz bucked beneath him, twisting away now until he pulled off of him. Claude pursued, Lorenz’s cock head caught in his kneading grip. Lorenz spurted out between his fingers, legs kicking against the pillows. “It feels— ah! Too _much_—! _Claude…_” 

“Lorenz! Unngh…!” 

Claude brought his soiled hand up to lick it clean, pressing his soaked dick against Lorenz’s to let spill across him, deepening the pool that drizzled into Lorenz’s navel.

Lorenz lifted his hips, rubbing into him best he could. The incline let the come flow down his chest, settling into the dip of his neck, his head pressed back into the pillow.

“Ahh, you’re a mess...” Claude observed between swipes of his tongue across his fingers, twitching against Lorenz in a final burst.

Panting, Lorenz took in the sight of Claude, cast in light and sharp shadow by his crest, eyes glowing as he finished licking his hand clean. The crest cast over Lorenz just bright enough for Claude make out the pink flush of his skin, glistening over the sweat coating him; highlighting the mess spattered across him. Claude let out a satisfied groan, rubbing his hands over Lorenz’s knees and down his legs until he was hovering just over him. They stayed center to center until they waned, growing soft against one another, fatigue setting in while they each searched for a way they might extend this moment into eternity.

It was fruitless. Claude’s crest wicked out, and they were left in the dark with a mess left to be cleaned.

Claude reached for the nearest lantern, turning the wick up so Lorenz could light it with the flick of his fingers. He took some aptly-placed handkerchiefs and scoured Lorenz clean. He thought this time would be different, that words would come to him after they gave in and finished up. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak, or pull away from him. Lorenz only looked at him thoughtfully, waiting for _something_ the same as he was. What was next? He felt like some resolution should be forthcoming, that the answer withheld from him— how to turn this affair into something more— would be obvious in the afterglow.

But it was already more, wasn’t it?

He thought of Lorenz, kneeling before his Grandfather swearing oaths— Oswald recounted the scene for him earlier, just before telling him it was a farce and to remain wary. That was a vow, wasn’t it? Claude felt robbed that he was absent. He had Lorenz’s vows, his love and his passion. But it was like a kite half-strung, knowing Lorenz would leave, oppose him, and marry off.

He lay down onto Lorenz’s chest, trying to devise how best to demand he repeat his oaths; or how he might ask for more than an oath. Any woman would demand marriage after being slept with— for good reason that two men didn’t need to concern themselves with. But wasn’t the bond enough? Lorenz stroked his hair. He began talking quietly to smooth over the tension that the silence was building; he could hear Claude brooding his way into a frenzy.

“You know, I was well prepared to do this the third night of the Roundtable: your commanding presence excited me in such a way you may not have believed possible— _I_ did not think I was capable of such hunger. As you moved through the crowd, leader apparent, a golden flourish in a sea of black and brown robes— ” Lorenz chewed his lip for a moment. “I found that I did not expend nearly enough lines on you in my small silver book. With your every step and smirk I felt the poetry of you like fingers pulling script across my body, the words I wanted to write of you tingling on my skin, how I wanted to touch you filling my head and making it light and dizzy. You near drove me mad. I lost much of my attention that day when you were in sight of me.” 

“Yeah?” Claude cursed himself for inviting Hilda along that same night.

“Yes. I wrote the final page the very next day.”

“Read it to me.”

“No. It will be a balm after I have left Derdriu for good; you should save it.”

Claude nodded, tears welling up. He blinked them away.

“Swear an oath to me. Like you did earlier.” He commanded. A distant clock chimed twelve.

“Not yet. Let us be only lovers, just for now. Oaths are best made at dawn.”

“Promise.”

“I do promise. On first birdsong, I will swear whatever you want me to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I wrap this up in an even 100 chapters? Who knows! With this chapter I have breached 250k (ovo)!!!
> 
> Also if you haven't seen it, I have a pre-skip fic called Downpour that is canon for Sunchaser if you like~
> 
> My other two rarepair works (Offering with Linhardt/Seteth and Confident Strokes with Ignatz/Ferdinand) are Sunchaser related, and will tie in with part 2, but not in a need-to-read significant way. I'm also writing one with Hapi/Marianne that is not up yet :)))


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